Death Shall Have No Dominion
by The Duchess Of The Dark
Summary: When Qui-Gon Jinn's bondmate is killed during the conflict on Naboo, he falls into a period of profound mourning. He believes she is gone forever - one with the Force. On Earth, in the present-day, Star Wars only exists as a comic book drawn by a talented
1. Death Shall Have No Domionion Part 1/?

Title: Death Shall Have No Dominion   
Author: The Duchess Of The Dark   
Teaser: Alternative scenario of during & after The Phantom Menace

Rating: PG13 – no nasties in here, unless you count Darth Maul

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to The Flannelled One. I own not, you sue my regrettably pear-shaped English arse not. Karis Kavanagh, Lyxandra Nox & all other non-canon characters are mine.

Genre: Action/adventure and hints of more to come. For more dark fiction (not fanfic) visit my page at Illona's Place Vampires [www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm][1]

Archive: Yes, but ask me first, please.   
Notes: Loved it? Loathed it? Tell me please... First of many chapters! Unfinished Text in _italic_ indicates thought. Text in apostrophes _'italic'_ indicates telepathic conversation.

"Though they go mad they shall be sane,

Though they sink through the sea they shall rise again;

Though lovers be lost love shall not;

And death shall have no dominion."

Dylan Thomas, And Death Shall Have No Dominion' (1936).

The clashing hiss and static of lightsabre blows rang out loud against the low hum of power generators as the Jedi fought the solitary Sith Lord. With a pained grunt, Qui-Gon Jinn staggered back as a Force-strengthened down swipe caught his lightsabre squarely in the middle, nearly causing him to drop it. He was tired, wounded in a dozen places, feeling his age. The Sith was younger, more resilient than he was, bolstered by messianic hatred and rigorous training. Seeing he was flagging, Lyxandra Nox stepped in, the singing violet blue length of her twin-pronged weapon flashing as she parried a frenzied deluge of thrusts. 

A darted glance back showed the Jedi Master's Padawan pacing with barely contained frustration behind a fluctuating reddish screen of energy, activated lightsabre clutched in his hands. Obi-Wan Kenobi was furious for allowing himself to be imprisoned, angry that the two Jedi Masters had not waited for him to catch up. Qui-Gon waited patiently for an opportunity to rejoin the battle, watching for a break in the blazing arc of shuddering light that would allow him to slip back in. Together they could defeat the Sith Lord, and if Obi-Wan got free in time, maybe even capture him to take back to the Jedi Council on Coruscant.

Darth Maul's manic yellow eyes gleamed as he leapt into the air in a flurry of black robes, double lightsabre whirling above his head in a crimson blur as he vaulted over the Jedi. Lyxandra tracked his leap with cool emerald eyes, long dark hair flying as she flipped over to meet the Sith's downward blow, sparks of purple leaping from her energy blade. The dexterity with which she wielded her weapon was astounding; she was the only one he knew who used a double lightsabre until he met Maul in combat. Feeling Obi-Wan's frustration and anger building, he sent a calming thought to the younger Jedi. His time would come, but his anger could prove his undoing.

Qui-Gon felt anxious for the first time, the fight was taking too long. The invading Trade Federation led by the Neimoidians was dangerously close to overrunning Naboo, and the Queen was somewhere in the palace, protected only by her loyal handmaidens and the stalwart Captain Panaka. Then there was young Anakin, whom he had left in the relative safety of a fighter cockpit. If it had been any other adversary, they would have overpowered or killed them in minutes, if not seconds. Biting back a cry as Maul caught her left shoulder, the flesh sizzling as it burnt, Lyxandra shifted her grip, favouring her uninjured arm. Concerned, Qui-Gon strode forward, green sabre whistling down, only to be blocked as the Sith twisted agilely about.

Maul suddenly feinted to the left, dropping down so Qui-Gon missed, sweeping the Jedi's legs from beneath him. He rolled into the fall, but slipped on the smooth floor. Following the move, supple and sure-footed as a Naboo swamp cat, Lyxandra drove in hard. Clipping her smartly on the chin with the shaft so she reeled, the Sith brought his arm around, taking full advantage of the two screeching red blades, and lunged. Scrambling to his feet Qui-Gon cried a warning, hand outstretched, too late to stop the stabbing blow. Blazing scarlet, the lightsabre scorched through tender flesh and bone, emerging from the centre of Lyxandra's slender back. The Jedi Master heard an anguished bellow of denial and realised it was his own.

A small, barely audible gasp of shock and pain fell from her lips. She looked slowly around and her vivid jewel green eyes met his, mutely imparting the certainty of her death. Maul bared his discoloured teeth in triumph, demonic red and black tattooed face animated with the realisation he had inflicted a deadly wound on one of the hated Jedi. She took a faltering step backwards as the Sith wrenched the weapon out, acrid smoke rising from the perfectly circular smoking hole. Her lightsabre fell from her rigid fingers and clattered noisily to the metal floor, twin columns of green energy winking. She collapsed to her knees, folding like so much material, and fell face down. Flopping onto her back, she lay motionless, a spreading pool of bright blue blood soaking through her beige Jedi robes. 

Qui-Gon stared with disbelief. It could not be true, it was simply not possible. Maul sneered at the stunned expression on his bearded face, twirling his lightsabre in a challenging loop. Grief and fury shattered the mental discipline of long years of training, ruptured the Jedi Master's self-control. Roaring, ignoring Obi-Wan's shouted pleas from behind the energy shield, he flung himself at the grinning Sith Lord, the blood and hatred pounding at his ears-

He woke with a cry, flailing in a tangle of blankets, vision crowded with blackness, ears filling with silence. Drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, Qui-Gon Jinn fell back on the spare pillows, hands coming up to cover his face. Lying there, body tense and knotted, he calmed himself, waiting for the mad thunder of his heart to subside. It was the same nightmare every time. 

Outside his compact quarters in the Jedi Temple, Coruscant bustled along ceaselessly, humans and aliens living, working, squabbling and loving as if nothing had happened. In the vast expanse of the galaxy, major events could easily pass unnoticed. Though it was night, the city-planet never slept, the streets and skylanes were always busy. In the spires and corridors of the Temple, Padawans, Knights and Masters alike would be going about their duties, even at this late hour. 

_It should have been me,_ he thought desolately, glancing out of the transparisteel window at the sea of twinkling lights in the darkness, squinting a little at the luminance from a passing shuttle. _If only I hadn't asked you to accompany Obi-Wan and I back to Naboo_

Closing his eyes, he tried to banish the image of her face as she lay dying in his arms, a warm trickle of blue running from her open mouth as she reached up a trembling finger to touch the tears running down his cheeks. 

"Too late, my love, it's too late," she had said, her voice little more than a whisper as her lungs filled with fluid. "Do not grieve for me this is not the end."

Her clear emerald eyes had locked with his and slowly unfocussed as the life left her and she became one with the Force. How long he had sat slumped on the metal floor, slowly rocking her cooling body back and forth, he did not know. What had started as a diplomatic mission to Naboo had become a full-scale invasion coupled with the return of the Jedi's ancient enemy, the Sith. What was ostensibly a trade dispute became the single most traumatic event of the Jedi Master's life. Qui-Gon discovered a vergence in the Force in the form of a young slave boy called Anakin Skywalker and lost his beloved. A year had passed since then, Obi-Wan had passed the trials and become a full Jedi Knight, taking over Anakin's training at the Council's insistence. They did not believe Qui-Gon capable in his current state, and though Obi-Wan would never say so aloud, he could see in his former Padawan's eyes that he agreed.

"Time to grieve you shall have, yes, and to meditate," Master Yoda had declared solemnly in his quiet, rough voice, tapping the floor with his gimmer stick. "Lest grief turn to hatred, which to the Dark Side, the way is."

So, Qui-Gon Jinn, famous for his repeated defiance of the Council's edicts, had acquiesced with a soul-weariness he had never before experienced. Sighing, he rose from his bed and methodically straightened the twisted covers, padding on bare feet to the small kitchen for a glass of water. All around there were reminders of Lyxandra; the hand-stitched wall hanging she had made him for the anniversary of his ascension to Jedi Master, the intricately carved fragment of bantha horn he kept in his belt pouch that matched one he had given her for her naming-day. Her lightsabre reverently placed in a box in the cupboard. Even through the sealed door its presence tugged at him, the defining possession of a Jedi.

Sometimes as he was falling asleep, Qui-Gon imagined her could feel her lying by his side, hear the soft sound of her breathing. He almost thought that if he opened his eyes he would see her smiling in the darkness as she reached to stroke his beard and kiss him before nestling into his arms. Almost. Her passing had created a disturbance in the Force, but it had nearly destroyed him. It was true that one did not fully appreciate the worth of someone until they were gone. Returning to bed, the Jedi Master drained the glass of water and lay down. Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to anticipate, but not to hope. If what he had discovered was true, he could see Lyxandra again, alive and vibrant as ever she had been. If. With this thought uppermost in his mind, Qui-Gon Jinn drifted into an uneasy sleep.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was extremely worried about his former Master. As he sat watching Anakin go through a complex series of exercises designed to focus the mind and tone the body, his attention wandered. It was not that Qui-Gon neglected any of his duties, apart from his reluctance to take on another Padawan, but the cold, almost mechanical fashion he executed them with was disturbing. It seemed only half his mind was in the present, that the greater part of his being was looking back to the past. Obi-Wan was concerned his grief would lead him astray. Though he knew it would be many years before he was as consummate a Jedi as Qui-Gon Jinn, he could not help but worry that his old teacher was veering dangerously close to the Dark Side, blinded by his loss. Obi-Wan would never forget the expression of undiluted murderous hatred contorting his old Master's face as he launched himself at the Sith Lord, Mistress Nox lying motionless at his feet. 

"Master, did I do that right?" Anakin's light voice broke in on his reverie.

The boy lifted an arm and a leg, perfectly balanced, and performed a neat handspring. Landing on his feet, milk and peaches face flushed with exertion, he looked with questioning eyes at his mentor. Obi-Wan nodded distractedly, the noise of the training hall suddenly flooding back. All around Padawans ranging from eight to twenty years old trained with their Masters or in organised groups, practising hand-to-hand combat, callisthenics and tests of endurance. 

"Yes, Anakin, very good go on to the next sequence," he said, forcing a smile.

Anakin Skywalker bounded up to the older Jedi with the seemingly inexhaustible energy of a ten year old, round face sombre beneath his sweat-dampened blond hair. 

"You're worried about Master Qui-Gon," he stated. "I can tell, your face gets all crumpled."

Obi-Wan stared at the small boy, once again surprised by his insight. Already Anakin could read most people's emotions, even if that person was Jedi-trained to control them. Wiping his face on the sleeve of his white _gi_, the former slave regarded his Master with guileless blue eyes.

"He's too sad," he observed with the blunt honesty of a child. "He doesn't smile anymore I think he needs fixing. Can't we do that, Master?"

With a heart-wrench that was almost physical, Obi-Wan smiled and clasped his apprentice's shoulder, shaking his head sorrowfully. Since the terrible events on Naboo, his former Master appeared to have lost his vitality, his confident aura of serenity and commanding presence.

"No, Ani, I'm afraid we can't. That's something he has to do for himself, nobody can help him. But don't worry, I'm sure he'll be better soon," he reassured, trying to convince himself as much as his Padawan. "Soon"

Temporarily satisfied with his answer, Anakin stepped back onto the mat and began another sequence of exercises. Joining him, Obi-Wan matched him move for move, using the graceful, controlled movements to help focus his troubled mind. He had the feeling Qui-Gon was going to do something dangerous; a small eddy in the Force, a ripple in the fabric of the future convinced him of it.

_Be mindful of the future, but not at the expense of the present, _he reminded himself, hearing both Qui-Gon and Yoda's voices. _Please, Master, don't do anything that will get you killed or expelled by the Council_

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Qui-Gon pressed his thumb against the scanner pad and watched the green band of light zip up and down as his DNA was tested and identified. With a muted hiss, the buff door slid back to reveal a dark expanse. As he stepped inside the small quarters, he pressed a switch, activating several wall-mounted lights. The gentle luminance revealed a tidy room; the walls were painted a pale magnolia, hung with large tapestry-like hangings from an unidentifiable alien world. A low sofa draped with Alderaan wool covers stood unobtrusively in the centre of the room, flanking a narrow glass table dotted with a selection of real paper books. Despite himself, he smiled. Lyxandra loved books, loved the smell of paper and the creak as she opened the carefully bound covers. She would make do with data pads day-to-day, but when she read for pleasure, it was from a book. 

The air smelled little musty, testament to the deactivated air-conditioning unit, and to Qui-Gon's nose, of long-burned temple incense. It was strange to be back in her quarters; he had not been there for nearly a year, yet could not bear to see it lived in by a stranger. The Council had decided not to allocate the quarters to another Jedi Master, preferring to allow Qui-Gon to choose when someone could take up residence. When he did it would signify his acceptance of past events, indicating he was almost healed. Larger than the quarters of Knights without Padawans, a Jedi Master was afforded the luxury of a personal bathroom and kitchen, rather than sharing communal facilities. Like most Jedi, Lyxandra and her various Padawans had rarely lived there for more than a few months at a time, always away in far-flung corners of the galaxy, but the place was uniquely hers. The last time he set foot there was when he returned from Tatooine with Anakin. They had sat up most of the night discussing the child and his unusually high midi-chlorian rate. 

"I understand why you think this way," she had said diplomatically, bare feet tucked beneath her as she sat on the comfortable sofa. "But the boy is too old to be trained, you and I both know that. Besides which, you have Obi-Wan to think about, he is nearly ready for the trials." She had paused and frowned slightly, darkening her eyes. "Anakin is too full of fear and anger. I've only met him once, but I think he is potentially very dangerous, maybe not now, but when he matures."

The Jedi Master heard the door sigh closed behind him and took several paces into the room, listening to the silence. He stopped dead and looked around, blue eyes distant. Gathering himself, he strode to the bedroom. Once there, he opened the tiny wardrobe. Unable to stop himself, he brushed a hand along the hanging clothes, fingers halting at a loose white robe, soft and slightly threadbare in places from use and washing. She had been wearing it when he had called after returning from Tatooine, answering the door with bare feet and a welcoming smile, her dark hair falling about her shoulders. 

They had talked about the young slave boy, debated, argued and finally agreed to disagree rather than fight. Sometime in the early hours of the morning, she had yawned and announced she was going to bed.

"You can stay up and brood," she had said, standing in the bedroom doorway framed by a soft halo of golden lamplight. "Or you can come and massage this kink out of my back."

Her lips had bowed to reveal even white teeth as she smiled, one hand pressed to the small of her back as she stretched with exaggerated imaginary stiffness. Like all her species, her skin was faintly pearlescent, gleaming pale opaline in the dim light.

"I think I pulled a muscle helping Kia-Jo train some Initiates," she had mused. "But I can't be sure I must be getting old, the Initiates seem younger and younger these days."

Qui-Gon had quickly decided he was not going to stay up and brood. As always, she had won him over without trying. Closing the wardrobe door, hearing the pop of air as it sealed, the Jedi Master suddenly wanted to leave before another memory crept up and caught him unawares. 

_That's when I asked you to come with us to Naboo,_ he thought. _Later on, when you were falling asleep. I hoping to persuade you I was right, that Anakin wasn't too old. My focus is in the present, that's all I saw, if I'd looked a little further as you did_

Remembering the sudden glint of tears in Anakin's china blue eyes when he was told the Jedi Master was dead, Qui-Gon felt a renewed stab of guilt. The slave boy had been awed at first, then wriggled with delighted embarrassment when Lyxandra swept him up and hugged him. She sensed how much he missed his mother and knowing that neither Qui-Gon nor Obi-Wan would comfort the child in the way he needed, had folded him in a warm embrace. Taking a last look around the apartment, the tall Jedi left. He was beginning, against his better judgement, to hope.

Politely sidestepping to avoid a pair of rotund red-skinned aliens with prominent eyestalks and bare eight-toed feet, Obi-Wan Kenobi scanned the throngs with sharp eyes. The space port was extremely busy, the air filled with garbled messages broadcast in thousands of languages and the distant roar of departing ships. Cleaned daily by an army of service drones, the white floors and metallic walls gleamed crystalline. Hundreds of ships docked here each day and all through the night; freighters, military ships, private and passenger transports from dozens of worlds spanning many star systems. Coruscant was the centre of the Republic, home to the Senate as well as the Jedi Order. 

Looking around for Anakin, he saw him engrossed in conversation with a pair of travel-worn pilots, gesticulating excitedly. Being a pilot, to span the stars at the controls of a fighter, was nearly as important to the former slave as becoming a Jedi. He had had a taste during the battle for Naboo, aided by the irrepressible astromech droid R2D2, and his appetite had not lessened. 

"Anakin!" The tone of the Jedi's voice left him with little doubt it would be a good idea to do as he was told. Obi-Wan did not have Qui-Gon's patience, and something was clearly bothering him.

Hastily saying goodbye to the two highly amused pilots, the young Padawan hurried over, skilfully weaving his way through the dense crowd. Life in Mos Espa had taught him the quickest ways of slipping through an assorted crowd of humans and aliens.

"Sorry, Master," he apologised. "I got caught up, those two pilots say they've done the Kessel run, and"

He trailed off as he saw Obi-Wan was only half-listening, the opaque quality to his blue grey eyes denoting concentration as he withdrew his telepathic mind and listened to the Force. The Jedi's light brown hair was longer now, the severe short cut and braid of a Padawan gone. Amongst his friends, he was one of the few to have passed the trials, his boyish features hiding a serious, dedicated mind. Chin lifting, gaze returning to the outer realm, he started off across the vast glittering expanse of the space port lobby.

"Come on, Ani, or we won't catch him in time."

Trotting after his Master, struggling to keep up as he strode away on longer legs, Anakin wondered where they would end up this time. Obi-Wan had the determined set to his jaw that meant he was about to go into a precarious situation, his hand coming up to touch the lightsabre hung unobtrusively at his belt. Anakin was not old enough to have a lightsabre, and longed for his Master to decide he was ready to learn how to construct one of his own. The low-powered training sabres were all identical, nothing like the distinctive weapons constructed as part of a Jedi's training. Darting through a forest of legs, he caught up just as Obi-Wan stepped into a turbolift. As the large lift hummed along, crammed full of passengers and pilots alike, the boy looked sidelong at the older Jedi. 

Obi-Wan seemed resolute, but unhappy; he looked like a Jedi who had foreseen something not to his liking. Reminding himself that the future was not set in stone, that it was malleable, Anakin decided not to question his Master. Everything would be explained in due course. The lift doors hissed open to reveal the organised chaos of a landing pad. A two-man Corellian fighter stood towards the back, cascading sparks and faint curses drifting from an open hatch as it was repaired by a frustrated mechanic. An even more frustrated pilot lingered outside, helmet tucked under his arm. Squat mech droids trundled here and there, bleeping and whistling incoherantly as they made final checks on departing ships. 

Anakin's features lit up with excitement at the sight of so many different ships and he rushed forward, only to be restrained by Obi-Wan's firm hand on his shoulder.

"Stay close," the Jedi murmured, gaze sweeping the huge light-dotted expanse. "And keep an eye out."

He was looking for someone, though who that could be escaped the puzzled boy. Obediently remaining at his teacher's side, he looked eagerly around, listening to the clatter, roar and general hubbub. Spotting a familiar tall cloaked figure striding purposefully between two small blocky Republic cruisers, Anakin cried out.

"Master, look! There's-" 

He looked around in time to see Obi-Wan thundering across the landing pad, loose brown cloak streaming out behind him. Breaking into a sprint, Anakin followed as fast as he was able. Seeing his Master make for a sleek silver ship that glistened like a captured teardrop, he veered off to the left in pursuit. Arriving at Obi-Wan's side a heartbeat after he skidded to a halt, he stared open-mouthed at the beautiful ship. A man stood with his back to them on the lowered boarding ramp, long silver brown hair pulled back from his face, broad shoulders bunched. Suddenly sensing a tenseness, an interruption in a careful plan, Anakin bit back the enthusiastic greeting leaping on his tongue.

"Master Jinn," Obi-Wan greeted formally. "May I ask where you're going in such a fine ship?"

Qui-Gon Jinn turned around slowly. His expression was neutral, but his eyes sparked with mingled annoyance and affection. His gaze skipped briefly to Anakin, but he did not speak to him.

"Why do my travel arrangements suddenly concern you, Jedi Kenobi?" he responded in an equally formal tone. "I believe you were once my charge, not the other way around."

Anakin would have laughed if he had not seen the sudden hardening of his Master's eyes. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had a close relationship, that of mentor and pupil, father and son. They seldom argued over anything for long, years of friendship proving stronger than passing disagreements. The situation here felt like it could undermine that friendship.

"Forgive me, but I feel a disturbance in the Force, Master." Obi-Wan smiled wryly, the title falling from his lips out of years of habit, even though he was no longer required to address him in this way. "A disturbance you're about to create"

He paused, obviously not wanting to challenge his former Master, but feeling he must. Anakin looked from one man to the other, keeping circumspectly silent. He could sense Qui-Gon's pain; the Jedi Master throbbed with it, no matter how he tried to control and hide it. There were some emotions even a Jedi's training could not master.

"Please, Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan said softly, dropping formality. "Tell me what you're doing. I sense you've chosen a dangerous path, and I won't allow you to walk it alone."

He took a few steps closer, one foot on the boarding ramp. Anakin remained where he was; this was between the two men. The older Jedi hesitated, a neatly packed bag hung over his arm. Wherever he was going, he did not intend to return for some time. 

"I'm going to find Lyxandra," he said finally.

Stifling a small gasp, Anakin goggled, wondering if the bearded Jedi Master was ill. He vividly remembered Qui-Gon telling him Lyxandra was dead, remembered how numb and haunted he had looked, a stricken shell of a man. He recalled how during the funeral in Theed, Master Jinn had wrapped himself in his cloak and stared into the undulating flames of the pyre, more isolated than he had ever been in his life. Shattered in the head, wounded in the soul, he had not spoken a single word for days, not to Anakin, Obi-Wan or even Master Yoda. Obi-Wan suddenly felt cold, fearful for his old Master's sanity. 

_He's finally snapped,_ he thought, controlling his horror. _His grief has driven him insane. A mad Jedi is an extreme danger to himself and others_

"Mistress Nox is one with the Force, Master," he said quietly, soothingly.

"You think I don't know that, Obi-Wan?!" The Jedi Master's voice was abruptly loud and harsh, echoing in the vastness. "Do you think I didn't feel her passing, the disturbance it created in the Force? Despite what you think - which I can sense all too clearly, young Jedi! - I'm not mad. There is a way. The question is; will you help or hinder me?"

Obi-Wan looked completely astounded and suddenly unsure. He had known his former Master was about to do something characteristically unorthodox, but had no idea exactly what. Anakin had already privately decided he would help Master Qui-Gon. To his mind, anything that would bring back the awe-inspiring Lyxandra Nox, who had been both gentle and terrifying, was a very good thing. 

"What exactly does this involve?" Obi-Wan asked, different scenarios running through his quick mind. "How are you going to find her?"

Cloning was the most obvious way to find' her, but it was illegal throughout the Republic and the clones did not possess the original's memories or personality. He instantly dismissed the idea; Qui-Gon did not believe in cloning and would never seek to reproduce an inferior copy of someone he loved. The Jedi Master drew breath to answer his ex-Padawan, only to pause as a passenger transport roared away nearby, making audible speech impossible. Anakin watched the transport soar into the blue void with engines flashing green white, then returned his attention to the two Jedi. 

"Have you heard of the Ilian system, Obi-Wan?" Qui-Gon asked.

"Yes," he frowned. "Very remote, past the Outer Rim there was a small border dispute we mediated on the third planet last year, why?"

A faint smile creased Qui-Gon's mouth; Obi-Wan made it his business to keep abreast of all affairs that concerned the Jedi, diligently keeping track of events that could have larger implications. 

"There is a spatial rift near the sun, a tear in the fabric of the universe. Objects that pass through it travel to a different dimension. Ilian astrophysicists have recorded unusually high concentrations of unidentifiable energy entering and leaving the rift, they have even chemically tagged some deposits and tracked their progress back and forth." Qui-Gon stopped, seeing his former apprentice was puzzled. He took a deep breath and continued. "The deposits contain varying levels of midi-chlorians, memory engrams and traces of genetic material from dozens of species from across the galaxy, the scientists believe each deposit is a map of an individual who has become one with the Force, in essence, a soul."

Comprehension suddenly unknit the frown on Obi-Wan's face and he stared with mingled wonder and disbelief. Anakin scratched his head, not really following, but trying his best. Obi-Wan shook his head and clasped his hands.

"You are referring to the old legend that all souls eventually migrate when they've become one with the Force, that they're reborn in a different time, a different place, even a different dimension. This is what you believe has happened to Lyxandra." He trailed off and frowned again. "And you're planning to take that ship into the rift to search for her."

Qui-Gon nodded silently, composed and unconcerned as if he were taking a stroll through the Temple. He had the air of a man who had carefully thought something out and decided on a course of action. His former Padawan looked more concerned than before as he took a step closer.

"Even if this is true," he said quietly. "How can you find her, and more importantly what gives you the right to disturb the path of the new life the Force has chosen to give her soul? She may not be female anymore, or even humanoid, either way she will not remember you or her life here. This is madness, Qui-Gon, the Council will expel you for it."

Obi-Wan watched his old mentor's expression carefully, seeing conflict flicker across his features. The Jedi Master seemed to shudder almost imperceptibly, then collected himself, chin lifting to meet his former Padawan's gaze.

"If that is their judgement, Obi-Wan, I shall accept it," he said quietly. "I have to know what's happened to her. We made a promise, a vow that whoever became one with the Force first would come to the other in spirit. She hasn't, and if it's within my power to discover why, then I'll do it."

He took a few paces closer to the younger man, his gaze momentarily reaching to encompass the silently watching Anakin. 

"Come with me, help me discover what's happened." He gestured at the dazzling silver ship. "This vessel has been fitted with shields to withstand the spatial forces within the rift, and it has a specialised sensor array to track the deposits. What I propose is feasible, Obi-Wan, I've investigated it thoroughly."

Unable to keep quiet any longer, Anakin raced up to the boarding ramp and skipped to the Jedi Master's side. 

"I'll come with you, Master Qui-Gon, sir!" he announced eagerly. "I'll help."

Qui-Gon looked down at the boy's excited blue eyes and enthusiastic expression, a willingness to help shining from his chubby features. A selfless, generous child, Anakin put others before himself without hesitation.

"That's very noble of you, Ani," he said with an affectionate smile, placing a large hand on his shoulder. "But I'm afraid that decision is down to your Master."

Two sets of blue eyes turned to the Jedi with a questioning, one young and guileless, the other mature and fathomless. Resisting the urge to shift from foot to foot beneath their combined weight, Obi-Wan made a decision against his better judgement.

"Anakin and I will need a few things before we set off," he said tersely. "Can take-off be delayed until then?"

Qui-Gon nodded silently, arms folded. Although his expression remained staid, testament to Jedi training, a softening of his sharp blue eyes revealed his feelings. Anakin thundered off the boarding ramp to Obi-Wan's side and stood quietly, trying to contain his impatience. Obi-Wan held his former Master's gaze steadily, then dipped his head and strode away to make preparations for the long trip ahead.

It was cold, extremely cold, and she could feel her legs slowly starting to go numb, despite the comforting warmth of Qui-Gon next to her. Of all the places to be sent, why did Master Yoda have to send them to a planet where it was a tropical paradise by day and frigidly arctic by night? Newly knighted and without any Padawan learners to worry about, they had eagerly accepted the mission, partly to prove their worth, partly to spend some precious time in each other's company. The elderly Rodian freighter captain on whose ship they had booked passage had shown them the utmost respect, but could often be caught grinning and murmuring "two young hearts" under her breath.

She glanced over at Qui-Gon, who was feeling the cold far worse than she was. Human, his body could not self-regulate its temperature in climate extremes as well as hers could. Snuggling a little closer, she touched his ear, checking for frostbite. He turned and smiled briefly, rubbing briskly at his ear in way of an answer. More attuned to the Living rather than the Unifying Force, he was headstrong and frequently challenged his elders on matters others though trivial. It was one of the reasons she loved him. Love. It was such a small word for something so powerful. 

They had been lying in wait for the Zabrackian arms dealers for over three hours. It was the middle of the night, and lying belly-down in ice-crackled undergrowth for that long was enough to tax even a Jedi's patience. The arms dealers had caused uproar; they were getting bolder by the year. Unlicensed, they pedalled illegal weaponry to anyone with enough credits to haggle. This particular planet was just within the jurisdiction of the Republic and the Senate had decided enough was enough. 

There was a soft rustle of stiff leaves, twigs and other scraps of flora, and she felt his arm snake around her waist. Somewhere close by, a group of small mouse-like faboolas scuttled about their business. Despite the cold, they could not use the portable thermo-device they had brought with them without risking detection by the arms dealer's sensors.

_I don't think I've ever been so cold in my life.' _His mental voice echoed in her head, deep and softly accented, implicitly caressing. _You don't feel cold... how, in the name of the Force, do you manage it?'_

Stifling a gasp as his freezing hand found its way through her robes, under her tunic, and brushed bare flesh, she frowned, but allowed him to thaw out his fingers. A dedicated man of extraordinary warmth and compassion, he also had a playful side not many saw. There was something serious and commanding about his voice that lent him a powerful presence his youth did not, and in years to come she was sure he would become a great Jedi Master. 

Resting at the curve of her waist his hand, now warmed, moulded to the contours, fingers lightly stroking. Resisting the urge to close her eyes, ignore the cold and discomfort, and let him carry on, she reached out and framed his clean-shaven face in her hands. Friends since childhood, lovers for scant months, they were comfortable with each other but the passion was fresh and vigorous. 

_It's freezing cold, I have icicles in my hair and we're in the middle of a forest waiting for a group of arms dealers who will definitely try to kill us,' _she stated, tracing the line of his jaw with a fingertip. _Have I left anything out?'_

Qui-Gon Jinn grinned broadly, blue eyes shining in the weak silver moonlight filtering through the forest canopy. Propping himself up on an elbow, he reached across and plucked an ice-filmed leaf from her hair. 

"Yes," he said aloud, voice a tone below a whisper. "This."

His lips found hers and despite the cold she felt herself melting, their tongues like two beating hearts, mouths honey and spices

Someone was shaking her, a voice blared loud and insistent in her ears. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes and discovered she was warm, alone and sitting on a tube train seat.

"C'mon, love, last stop," the guard said irritably. "Wakey wakey!"

Karis mumbled that she was awake and knuckled her eyes. The guard tutted under his breath and strode away down the carriage. Grasping at the tubular metal handrail, she fumbled her way off the train and onto the deserted platform. She had fallen asleep on the tube, again. Raking a hand through her hair, she found a bench and sat down, first brushing off an old chip paper and some sweet wrappers. 

_This is getting ridiculous,_ she thought, unwrapping a cough sweet and popping it into her mouth. _I must be working too hard or something I mean, I'm dreaming about a comic-book character for Chrissake._

Giving herself an inner poke to the ribs, she stood up and headed for the escalator, buttoning her jacket as she did so. It was nearly April, but winter had not yet lost its bite. And to top it off she had caught cold. Rubbing her hands briskly together, she shoved them into her pockets and aimlessly read the adverts on the grey tube station walls as the escalator chugged along. Stepping off at the top, a bitter gust of wind swirled litter around her ankles.

"E-excuse me"

Karis turned to see a thin young boy of about seventeen, rigid with the cold. He wore a shapeless army-surplus jacket, voluminous combat trousers and Doctor Marten boots. His bleached blond hair stuck out at several different angles, held in place by gel and willpower. A silver ring glinted in his left eyebrow. Delving in her pocket, she found some change and held it out. The boy stared uncomprehendingly, then gave a shy grin and shook his head.

"Oh! No, that's not what I was after hang on" he delved into the expanse of his jacket and produced a well-thumbed copy of the first part of Star Wars: The Phantom Menace' and a magic marker. "You're Karis Kavanagh, aren't you? I-I love The Phantom Menace'! It's really great, I've been reading comics for years but I've not seen any sci-fi half this good! The artwork is _so _cool, and-"

Karis suppressed a smile as the boy stopped, blushed furiously and held out his comic to be signed. Her four part comic series had taken the underground scene by storm and was breaking into the mainstream. For an audience used to Marvel superheroes and Star Trek, it was a breath of fresh air. People who would not normally dream of reading a comic had bought copies. Her agent had spent the past few months in a state of complete rapture since a Hollywood movie-maker called George Lucas had hinted he was interested in developing her work into a series of films. 

"What's your name?" she asked.

"Um, erm, Ben," he mumbled.

Signing the comic with her customary bold double K', she handed it back and smiled as the boy looked like he had been handed the Holy Grail. Stammering his thanks, he all but ran off, clutching his prize to his slim chest. Feeling better than she had done, Karis wound her red and purple velvet scarf around her throat and stepped out onto the street, thinking of tea, a hot bath and bed in that order. 

_I'll finish off those samples and synopses first, _she decided. _I did promise Illona I'd get them to her by the end of the week. Star Wars', only thirty years down the line when Anakin is a grown man turned to the Dark Side. Let's hope it does as well as The Phantom Menace'_

Concentrating on her deadlines and workload, she hurried in the direction of home, head bowed against the fine cold drizzle slanting down to grease the roads and fill the gutters. She was still unsuccessfully trying to concentrate on the outline of the sequel some hours later. Sat before her drawing board, her fingertips coated with ink, she stared at the A3 sized drawing. It depicted Qui-Gon as he appeared in The Phantom Menace', a few decades older than the young Jedi in her dream. Proud features creased with anguish, he was cradling the lifeless body of Lyxandra Nox in his arms. In the background stood Obi-Wan Kenobi, imprisoned behind the crimson energy shield. An unfinished sinister red and black shadow to the left, Darth Maul loomed with his twin lightsabre activated.

Sighing, Karis reached for her glass and took a long swallow of vodka and lemonade, ignoring the smeary black stains her fingers left. Her studio was littered with artwork, a folder of finished pieces behind the drawing board, unfinished ones pinned to cork panels on the walls. She had a computer with numerous drawing programmes on, but preferred to do things the old fashioned way, loving the feel of the paper and the way the colours flowed on the page.

"You've got to stop this, girl," she said aloud to herself. "It's narcissism, sheer narcissism – you've become fixated on a character you created. You're finished with The Phantom Menace', you've other projects to think about."

Angry that she had wasted time, she reached for the drawing, momentarily hesitating before tearing it in half and consigning it to the wastepaper bin. Looking at the clock, she saw it was one a.m and groaned soundlessly. Tossing back the remains of her drink, she tidied away her pens, ink, pencils and paint and stalked off to bed, frustrated and exhausted. Once asleep, she began to dream once more.

"Obi-Wan is a bright child, if somewhat wilful," Qui-Gon declared, setting down his cup. "And he has limited understanding of the Living Force."

Laughing, she reached for the water jug and refilled both their cups. Watching a large group of young Padawans aged between ten and fourteen thunder noisily past to join the queue for meals, she placed her hand over his.

"Which is why Master Yoda encouraged you to take him on and I seem to remember a certain Padawan who was just as wilful, if not more so."

Qui-Gon's lips quirked and he inclined his head in acknowledgement, giving her fingers a light squeeze. A lot of Padawans found him intimidating, overawed by his height and dignified reserve, but once he smiled they were set at ease. Still headstrong in many ways, though not so fiery as in his youth, he radiated an alert calm that inspired trust. Sat at a corner table in the dinner hall, they were watching the Padawan learners and commenting on the progress of their respective apprentices. Meals in the Jedi Temple were a triumph of organisation and culinary expertise. The Order played host to some ten thousand Jedi, and although they did not occupy the Temple at the same time, there were enough of them to cause a logistical nightmare.

"Kia-Jo is progressing well," she commented. "But she is troubled by strong glimpses of the future, which is unusual in one so young. She had a terrible nightmare the other night about a huge space station that could destroy planets. She came creeping into my room shivering and shaking at three in the morning, poor child."

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to answer, but the dreamscape flickered, changed and the busy hum of voices and clink of plates was gone. It was drowsily quiet, warm and dark. Cocooned in sheets and blackness punctured only by the distant twinkle of multi-coloured lights, she listened to the regular, contented beat of the heart beneath her ear. A degree or so warmer than her own, his skin felt delicious against hers. They had not seen each other for six months, various missions sending them to opposite sides of the galaxy.

Sure and gentle, his large fingers twined in her hair, traced the contours of her face and the delicate point of her ear, played caressingly down her spine. Responding with a purring sigh of pleasure, she shifted position, fitting herself against him more snugly. 

"Come back with me to Naboo," he said softly, lips against her hair. "I know you don't agree with me over Anakin, but we will need you to help protect the Queen I foresee the tattooed warrior will be there. There is something larger behind all this, but as Obi-Wan so succinctly put it, it is elusive'."

Raising her head she met his piercing blue gaze and read the emotions there; the belief in Anakin, the concern over what may be a Sith Lord, the compassion for the plight of a planet and a painfully young Queen. She nodded.

"I'll come. The entire Council is unnerved by the prospect of the return of the Sith." She paused and gave a wry smile. "Or as unnerved as the Council gets over anything. And with good reason, it seems."

She felt his gratitude, the swell of warmth and love through their telepathic bond washed through her like liquid sunlight. Pillowing her head against his chest, she closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. More sensitive than a human nose, the way a person smelled was as much a part of her concept of them as their face and voice. Feeling his arms tighten around her, she drifted into the relaxed, floating state that came just before sleep. The dreamscape shifted.

She was on Naboo, standing before the massive doors of the power generator complex, watching as they slid slowly back to reveal the black-robed Sith. Behind the Jedi, the Queen and her entourage balked. Amidala was an exceptionally brave, intelligent girl, but even she gave off jagged spikes of fear. The Sith's feral yellow eyes narrowed, burning from a tattooed mask of crimson and jet. Gloved hand lifting to reveal a long lightsabre shaft, the air flashed scarlet as he activated first one side, then the other. Either side of her, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan thumbed on their weapons, green and blue respectively. 

There was no doubt in her mind that this horned, tattooed creature was Sith. He smouldered with hatred honed and controlled into a perfectly balanced weapon. Attuned to the Force, he was incredibly focussed and disciplined. She knew he had one purpose here; to kill any and all Jedi he came across. They were all that stood between him and the Queen. As she activated her own twin-pronged sabre, his yellow eyes flickered with what could have been surprise and a hint of respect. 

In her experience, there had never been a confrontation like this before; both sides were Jedi-trained, Light against Dark. The training battles between Jedi were fast, highly skilled and dangerous, but they did not intend to kill each other. There was always the risk of serious injury with a weapon as specialised as a lightsabre, but the intent was never deadly. This was different. Maul's upper lip curled in a faint sneer – he was as good as they were, if not better. Adopting a combat stance, she strode forward, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan flanking her. The dreamscape rolled back.

Her shoulder was flaming agony, injured by a devious blow. Centering herself, she willed away the pain, reducing it to a dull throb. Grip impaired, she was not fighting at full strength. She could feel Qui-Gon's concern as he stepped forward, green sabre blazing, only to be floored by a hard, accurate kick from the Sith. He grunted as the breath was knocked from him, rolling into the fall. Seeing him slip on the smooth metal walkway, flank momentarily unprotected, she swung around to block Maul. Tattoo-patterned features contorted with battle-rage, he dropped under her guard and smashed at her chin with the haft. Head snapping back, she tasted blood as blue stars raced across her vision. Somewhere through a concussed haze, she could hear Qui-Gon bellow a warning-

Karis woke with a scream, the taste of blood she knew was not human fading from her mouth. Trembling uncontrollably, she realised she was sitting bolt upright in bed. Reaching to turn on the small bedside lamp, to expel the blackness, she touched her face and found it damp with perspiration. Swearing under her breath, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stared at her bare toes, faintly, inexplicably surprised by the tone of her skin in the orange mushroom of electric light.

_What did I think it was going to be? Pearlescent? Next thing you know I'll be wondering why my ears aren't pointed and why a little green man called Yoda isn't living next door. Shit_

It had all felt so real, despite the shifting of time and place. More real than a dream. Climbing back under the comforting warmth of the bedcovers, she pulled them up to her chin and lay on her back staring at the ceiling. When dawn stole softly red over the rooftops, she was still wide awake. It had not felt like a dream, it had felt like memories.

Anakin sat with one leg crooked over the other, toying with his tightly-woven braid as he watched Master Jinn. Shivering a little, he rubbed at his arms until the goose pimples faded. Despite living on Coruscant for nearly a year, he still missed the dry heat of Tatooine and found space travel exceedingly chilly. Kneeling on the floor of the cockpit, the Jedi Master was meditating. Hands resting on his knees, he sat on his heels with a straight back and closed eyes, breathing slowly and regularly. The young apprentice wondered if he was listening to the Force, and if he was, what it was telling him. 

Obi-Wan was in the pilot's chair before an enticing array of controls, buttons and levers. An intelligent child, Anakin had taken little more than two hours to master the controls, despite never having seen a ship like it before. He had been allowed to pilot it while in open space, laying in the course and speed, making adjustments as necessary, but now they were nearing the spatial rift, Obi-Wan had taken over. The Jedi Knight looked over at his apprentice and noted he was shivering.

"Take my robe, Ani," he instructed fondly. "Or you'll catch a chill."

Gratefully, Anakin retrieved the warm brown robe from the back of the pilot's chair and huddled into it. They had been travelling for over a week and he was beginning to get restless, disliking the confines of the ship. The small corridors and rooms did not allow for the physical training undertaken by a Padawan learner on a daily basis, so Obi-Wan had set him mental challenges. His use of the Force was improving; he had successfully held six datapads in a perfect concentric ring above his head for over half an hour the day before. 

The previous night he had woken up and heard the two older Jedi talking in low, serious tones. He sensed Obi-Wan was worried about what may happen if they found Mistress Nox's reincarnation, concerned that Qui-Gon would not be satisfied by simply seeing her. Using their powers for personal gain was strictly prohibited, and the entire enterprise was a very personal one for the Jedi Master. Anakin knew Obi-Wan did not believe his former Master would knowingly violate the Jedi code, but was concerned he could lose his focus. 

Although questionable in the strictest sense, merely observing did not contravene the code, nothing tangible stood to be gained. There were no possessions, power or influence in seeing the reincarnation, nothing to adversely affect another or disturb the balance of the Force. It was the associated emotional responses that could lead to complications. Willing to help complete strangers if he believed a cause was worthy, to put their life before his, the temptation for the Jedi Master to intervene in the life of the reincarnation of his bondmate would be overwhelming. So could the urge to re-establish a relationship of some sort, which would be personal gain. Anakin realised his Master had come along to try to prevent such things occurring.

_If there's anything wrong, Master Qui-Gon will try to fix it, _he had thought to himself, lying curled on the bunk with his eyes closed so the two men did not see he was awake and listening. _He always does – he did it for me, and for Jar Jar If she's still a she, or what if she's a he? Or what if she's got six legs, eight eyes and tentacles?!_

The ex-slave had thought about the possible permutations until his mind was in a complete whirl. He tried to imagine what it would be like if someone you loved was killed, someone you shared a bond with. Obi-Wan had patiently explained about telepathic bonds between Jedi before beginning to work on the training bond between them. Anakin was insightful enough to realise that the bond between Master and Padawan was very different to that between two mature Jedi. He hoped they would find Mistress Nox, hoped it would make Master Jinn less sad.

Qui-Gon's clear blue eyes opened and he stretched his back infinitesimally. Unfolding his long limbs from the meditating posture, he stood, remarkably gracefully for a man of his size, and crossed to the console. He seemed more focussed than he had of late, some measure of his placidity returning. 

"We should be approaching the co-ordinates," he announced quietly. "What do the sensors show?"

Obi-Wan tapped at a few buttons and silently studied the readouts. After a few moments he shook his head, features washed pale blue by the illuminated display.

"Nothing as yet," he reported, then frowned slightly. "But-"

"You feel an eddy in the Force," Qui-Gon finished. "We're getting closer – maintain course and speed."

Anakin hopped down from his perch on a bulkhead and hurried to the Jedi Master's side, his borrowed robe trailing on the floor in a rich brown puddle. He looked up at Qui-Gon, who towered over him as always. Even though he had grown in the last year, he barely reached his elbow in height. He wondered if he would ever be as tall. Sensing the scrutiny, Qui-Gon looked down and his bearded face softened, one huge hand settling on his shoulder with the ease of familiarity. The reassuring strength in his grasp reminded Anakin of when he had won the podrace on Tatooine, of how the Jedi had beamed and hoisted him up onto his shoulder like he weighed little more than a baby wamprat.

Although Obi-Wan was his Master, a Council decision he understood but did not think was fair, Qui-Gon was the Jedi he aspired to be. He had grown to know, trust and love Obi-Wan, but still resented the fact he had not been apprenticed to Master Jinn. Less patient that his former Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi had the beginnings of wisdom that would come with age and experience. His teaching methods were similar, but he laughed more readily and allowed a little more misbehaviour than perhaps Qui-Gon would have. 

He looked up at the two older Jedi and saw they both had their eyes closed, extending themselves through the Force to feel the spatial rift. Following suit, he edged out a cautious thought, following the bright stream of his Master's consciousness. Before he could stop it, a gasp escaped his lips and he staggered, only to be steadied by Qui-Gon's strong hand on his shoulder.

"Yes," the Jedi Master remarked, eyes still closed. "It's quite an overwhelming sensation, isn't it?"

Anakin could only nod, dazed by the endless ebb, flow and wheel of life and emotion suffusing the Force around the rift. It was like being bathed in a pure, white light that was somehow filled with millions of colours, each differentiation of hue a contained being within itself, possessed of unique emotions and memories. Untrammeled by physicality, the souls communed with the Force at a fundamental level until they were ready to journey onwards. Raising his head, the young Padawan stared out of the cockpit into space and raised a hand to point.

"Look!" he cried. "Look there!"

Like a slash across black silk, a long blue green tear glimmered against the starry void. Thousands of times larger than the ship, it shone with a beautiful, dazzling intensity. The edges were smooth, lined with scintillating dots of brilliant white, but the centre was dense blackness. Obi-Wan seemed frozen by the spectacle, his mouth soft with wonder. Gathering himself, he checked the sensors.

"The sensors can't detect anything in the centre of the rift," he reported, an eyebrow escalating. "It's like there is nothing there."

Qui-Gon leaned forward and began quickly keying data into the specialised sensor array. The ship shuddered beneath them, causing Anakin to shift his weight to avoid being overbalanced. Obi-Wan's swift fingers darted over the console, compensating for the pull generated by the rift. Silence as the child Padawan watched his seniors work, eyes tracking every movement of their hands, each change in their expressions.

"Master?" Obi-Wan prompted softly. "Did she pass through here?"

Straightening to his full height the Jedi Master nodded, his leonine features smooth and inscrutable. Adept at shielding his emotions, it was difficult for the other Jedi to ascertain what he was feeling. Straining as hard as he could, Anakin detected hope and apprehension in equal measure.

"Yes, she has been here."

Hearing the low rumble of Qui-Gon's voice, Anakin's gaze flew to his Master. Obi-Wan had made clear his feelings over the entire situation in the hanger on Coruscant. 

"If you do not wish to continue, Obi-Wan, tell me now," the bearded Jedi said gently. "I will understand. You have a Padawan to consider, whereas I have only myself to put at risk. I can drop you on Illia, it shouldn't be difficult to find passage back to Coruscant."

Obi-Wan's blue grey eyes grew sharp, although he knew his former Master was not implying cowardice. He shook his head firmly, prompting Anakin to let out the breath he had been holding.

"No, we'll come with you. I gave my word and it is good. I can't allow you to do this alone. You were always there for me when I needed help, and so shall I be for you."

Qui-Gon's vivid blue eyes danced with warmth and gratitude, and he clasped the younger man's arm. In the year since the invasion of Naboo, they had drifted apart somewhat, duty, grief and the ritual severance of the Master Padawan training bond placing distance between them. With a simple clasping of arms they had closed the gap. Pleased and excited, Anakin watched as between them they laid in a precise course, adjusted the shields and reset the sensors. 

As the sleek ship cruised towards the impenetrable heart of the rift, Qui-Gon stared through the transparisteel cockpit front, shoulders tensing beneath his brown robes. Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan, who met his gaze steadily, then they both looked at the Jedi Master. The ship began to tremble, shaking beneath the extreme gravimetric forces that formed the spatial rift. Gritting his teeth to stop them vibrating in his head, Anakin steadied himself by snatching hold of the pilot's chair, gaze pinned to the black void as it gradually became larger and larger. Despite himself, he felt a twinge of fear, unnerved by the lightlessness and apparent emptiness.

Everything began to grow fuzzy, to lose definition as if viewed through running water or a faulty energy field. Startled, he watched as the front section of the cockpit stretched away, the solid durasteel malleable as putty. Drawing and holding a huge breath, he screwed his eyes shut and gripped the back of the chair until his knuckles turned white. His limbs began to tingle, roaring disorientation flooding his head. The universe compressed itself into a sparkling dot, then there was nothing but blackness.

Anyone watching from a distance would have seen the teardrop silver ship elongate, stretching out of shape like a rubber toy, then vanish in a snap of bluish light. Scant minutes later they would also have seen a black double epsilon-winged craft slowly cruise in behind it, manoeuvring carefully on minimal thrusters. It had no Republic markings, no identifying insignia of any kind. Hanging motionless for a brief time, seemingly dead in space, it suddenly powered up its engines and followed the Jedi's vessel into the spatial rift. 

   [1]: http://www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm



	2. Death Shall Have No Dominion Part 2/?

Title: Death Shall Have No Dominion   
Author: The Duchess Of The Dark   
Teaser: Alternative scenario of during & after The Phantom Menace

Rating: PG13 – no nasties in here, unless you count Darth Maul

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to The Flannelled One. I own not, you sue my regrettably pear-shaped English arse not. Karis Kavanagh, Lyxandra Nox & all other non-canon characters are mine.

Genre: Action/adventure and hints of more to come. For more dark fiction (not fanfic) visit my page at Illona's Place Vampires [www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm][1]

Archive: Yes, but ask me first, please.   
Notes: Loved it? Loathed it? Tell me please... second of many chapters!

"It's going to be _so_ big, Kay-Kay, even bigger than 'The Phantom Menace'. I mean, the public are just _lapping _it up, dahling, _lapping_ it up. This little sci-fi epic of yours is the biggest thing to hit the comic scene in ages!"

Karis half listened as her agent twittered happily, amused as always by her banter. Illona was irrepressible, but a thoroughly capable business woman who hid her steel backbone beneath fluttering hand gestures and beaming smiles. Only Illona could get away with calling her 'Kay Kay' in reference to her initials. Only Illona had seen the potential of her work and moved heaven and earth to find a publisher to take it on. Sat at a moderately well-placed table in a trendy café bar, they were eating a lesiurely lunch, people-watching and talking all at the same time. 

"Kay-Kay…? Dahling, I don't believe you've heard I word I said." Illona tossed her burgundy hair and peered at her over the rim of her glass, slowly sipping iced Perrier water.

Karis looked up from her plate and smiled, swallowing a forkful of salad before answering. The café bar was a little too trendy for her taste, there were too many fashionable young things looking down their noses at other people.

"Sorry, Ills, miles away there. What did you say?"

Illona sighed and rolled her eyes dramatically, drumming her fingers on the table with mock irritation. Her eyes narrowed and she studied her client intently. Fingers stained with ink and paint as usual, Karis fiddled with the heavy silver ring on her right hand, insomniac shadows dulling her chocolate brown eyes. She seemed edgy, almost jittery, which was unusual for her. Normally, nothing short of a major crisis ruffled her. If pushed or annoyed, she could explode without warning, earning the unfortunate person a sharp tongue-lashing, but was generally amiable. Throughout their lunch she had eaten little and said less, gazing off into space.

"Are you alright, dahling? You look dreadful, simply _dreadful_, if you don't mind me saying."

Karis shrugged nonchalantly, "I've not been sleeping very well, that's all. I've had a bit of a cold, too. Nothing to fret over."

Leaning back in her chair, signalling a passing waiter to bring the bill, Illona smiled knowingly.

"I know what's eating you," she announced triumphantly. "It's your birthday next month, isn't it? The big three oh?"

The question was answered by a puzzled frown. Unobtrusively, the waiter appeared and disposited the bill at Illona's elbow before swanning away to another table. She raised a perfect eyebrow.

"Well?"

"I'm twenty eight next month, Ills, I've a few years yet before I reach 'the big three oh'."

Illona looked put-out, slightly embarrassed at adding years to her client's age, and reached for her glass. Suddenly wishing she had a cigarette, but sternly reminding herself she had quit six months ago, she inclined her head.

"How're the drafts for the next installment coming?" she asked. "Have you decided on a title yet? The publisher is _itching_ to know, dahling, just _itching_."

Somewhat surprisingly, Karis looked uncomfortable and dropped her gaze. Though modest about her work, she would happily discuss, criticise or analyse it with anyone. She squirmed a little in her seat like a child who has not done their homework, toying with the amethyst crystal beads around her left wrist. 

"I've done some preliminary stuff, mostly sketches, I haven't really decided on a concrete storyline yet, just that it'll be thirty years down the line when Anakin is an adult. I think I'll have Obi-Wan in there somewhere, too," she said, pushing a sad piece of lettuce around her plate with her fork.

Illona fished in her purse for her credit card and placed it on top of the bill, examining a minute chip in her french manicure. 

"It's a shame the publishers made you change the end of 'Phantom Menace' and kill off the Master, what was his name…? Qui-Gon Jinn," she commented. "He was a good character. But, who is the artist to question the publisher, dahling? They hold all the cards, more's the pity."

Karis scowled, feeling an inexplicable inner jolt at the mention of the Jedi Master's name. She had battled for weeks to get the publishers to change their minds, but they would not budge. They had felt his death at the climax, along with that of his lover, would add greater impact to the piece. Instead of the single dignified funeral she had envisioned, she had to redraw a double cremation, with extra frames of the grief-stricken Anakin and Obi-Wan. The decision still rankled with her, even though it was the only change she had been asked to make. Many artists found their work changed almost beyond recognition by picky publishers. It had felt wrong to change the storyline, almost like a violation.

"Tell me about it," she growled. "They better hadn't suggest any 'minor alterations' to the next one."

Leaning over, Illona patted her hand soothingly, flicking a brief smile at the waiter who came to whisk away the bill and credit card. Feeling like an overly temperamental artist, Karis's forehead wrinkled and she sat back, surprised by the depth of outrage she felt at interference with her work. 

_It's not like any of it's real, _she thought. _So why do I feel like I've lied?_

Cross with herself and the world in general, especially ignorant publishers, she reluctantly accepted Illona's invitation to go for a drink at a nearby wine bar. As they left, she caught herself staring expectantly at the sky, which was clear and blue as a robin's egg. Not consciously knowing what she was looking for, if anything, she shook her head and followed her agent down the crowded city street. 

*

Qui-Gon Jinn was engaged in the Jedi equivalent of impatient pacing. He shifted position in the pilot's chair infinitesimally, folded his hands in the sleeves of his robe, crossed and recrossed his ankles. He could feel Anakin watching him with frank curiosity, and was not surprised. The meditative quiet of the cockpit was beginning to feel restricting to the child; he needed more diversion than the muted tones of the various ship's systems. They had emerged from the rift into a binary star system of nine planets, only one of which appeared inhabited. The inhabited planet was an unremarkable blue green world with two polar icecaps and a worrying amount of atmospheric pollution. 

Careful scans had revealed a low level of technological advancement; the primary communication methods were radio waves and digital information beamed to clunky satellites. Energy was provided by fossil fuel or nuclear power plants and most transports used internal combustion engines. To his relief, there were no orbital defence systems or security grids that could detect their starship. 

"They seem a violent people," Obi-Wan had commented. "Judging by the information and entertainment channels we picked up, there are armed conflicts on all the major land masses. Thank the Force they haven't managed to travel outside their own solar system."

Staring out of the cockpit at the slowly revolving planet, Qui-Gon closed his eyes and concentrated on the Force. Somehow, it had not surprised him that humans, a great deal of whom spoke Basic, inhabited the planet. What did surprise him was the insensitivity they had to the Force. Country after country stripped the land of its resources with no thought of maintaining the delicate symbiotic relationship between the people and the earth. Here and there, small bright glimmers indicated groups of people who were Force sensitive, but he failed to detect any strong enough to be considered Jedi. The Force here was subtly different in ways he found impossible to verbalise. The sensation of filling light and connectedness was the same, but it felt different, as if the entire universe had shifted a tiny degree.

Focussing on the brighter emanations of the Force-sensitive, he consciously put aside his search and allowed the Force to guide him. After an hour of deep submersion, his blue eyes opened and he sat forward to place a hand on Obi-Wan's shoulder.

"Scan the small island just to the left of the largest land mass," he instructed, consulting a datapad on which he had stored maps plucked from the numerous audiovisual channels broadcast across the globe. "Britain."

Nodding, Obi-Wan's nimble fingers danced across the console. Anakin took the soggy end of his braid out of his mouth and leaned forward expectantly. He had studied a whole pile of datapads and had grown particularly fond of something called 'cartoons', amused by the way the ludicrous characters could be hit, squashed, ran over or otherwise injured and instantly bounce back with no apparent ill effects. 

"I've found her," Obi-Wan announced levelly, features composed with typical unreadable Jedi calm. _That's if she's still female._ "Master?"

A strange expression had come over the Jedi Master's features, part elation, part apprehension. Blue eyes momentarily distant, he vacated the pilot's chair and gestured for Obi-Wan to take his place.

"Take us down, Obi-Wan. We haven't come this far to turn back now."

Activating the ship's stealth shields so the primitive radar tracking would not pick them up, Obi-Wan keyed in a descent course. Glinting iridescent like oil captured on water, the teardrop ship swung around, plunging through the thermosphere, mesosphere and finally the ozone layer to pass through the blanketing cottony white cloud. 

Anakin gazed, rapt, as through the gradually thinning clouds an irregularly shaped green island came into view. He stared at the ocean surrounding it, amazed by the sheer amount of water. Water was a precious commodity on the arid Tatooine, and although he had seen the rivers and magnificent waterfall in Theed, he had never seen the ocean. 

"Look, Master!" he cried wonderingly. "Look at all that water!"

Both the older Jedi smiled, amused by his naked wonder. Pressing himself as close to the cockpit window as he could, the Padawan craned his neck to get a better view of the sea, mouth hanging open. Spotting an aeroplane chugging lethargically across the sky, Obi-Wan made a minor adjustment in course and speed to avoid it. In the cockpit of the Jumbo Jet, the co-pilot blinked and rubbed his eyes. Shakily reaching for the polystyrene cup of coffee at his side, he turned to the Captain.

"Did you just see that?" he asked.

"That silver ship that just buzzed us?" 

"Yeah."

"No," the captain said firmly, straightening the peak on his cap. "And if you value your career as much as I do, neither did you."

As the green island became a grey tangle of roads, cities, towns and seaports, Qui-Gon leaned over the console to consult the sensors. As they drew nearer to the ground, he tapped a large square keypad. The cockpit lights altered from pale blue to rich amber, the outer hull of the ship shimmering as it cloaked. Anyone who happened to be looking skywards would have seen a shining metallic spot suddenly wink out like a closing eye. 

"We don't want to cause a panic," he observed. "I doubt the locals would appreciate the sight of a starship landing."

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow appreciatively. He had not known the ship was carrying a cloaking device. His former Master had undoubtedly called in a lot of favours to secure the use of such a fine vessel. As they cruised over the city suburbs, nearing the centre, he spotted a large abandoned warehouse within reasonable distance of the source of the sensor readouts. Roofless, it provided an adequate site to conceal the ship from prying eyes. Manoeuvring sharply on its repulsorlift thrusters, the ship spun about like a compass needle and gently descended to the ground. 

The boarding ramp lowered and touched the greasy concrete with a faint thump. Anakin was first to skip down, wrinkling his nose slightly at the pungent smell of mould, decaying litter and rotten roof beams. He paused to scrape a sticky blackish patch of moss from his boot and looked up at the sky, squinting in the lemony spring sunshine. The two older Jedi emerged some moments later, gratefully breathing in the relatively fresh air. After weeks of recycled oxygen, the city air was welcome. 

"There are lots of petrochemicals in the atmosphere," Obi-Wan commented, turning to Qui-Gon. "Master, we're going to be less than inconspicuous dressed as we are."

A faint smile ghosted the Jedi Master's mouth and he folded his arms, hands disappearing into the sleeves of his robe.

"At least we are the same species, Obi-Wan. I doubt we could pass unnoticed if the inhabitants of this little planet had three eyes or two heads. We must be mindful of hostile intent, but judging by the diversity of clothing shown on the audiovisual channels, we shouldn't attract more than passing attention."

Obi-Wan did not look convinced, but chose not to contradict his former Master. Checking a small handheld scanner, he smiled as he saw Anakin rush to the warehouse doors, eager to experience whatever this strange, technologically backward planet had to offer. Calling his Padawan to his side, ruffling his hair affectionately, he passed the scanner to Qui-Gon. The three Jedi set off on foot, leaving their cloaked ship concealed in the derelict warehouse. Half an hour later, a spherical black metallic object bearing a long antenna zipped past, beeping and clicking as it flew. The probe droid stopped and hovered above the warehouse, revolving three hundred and sixty degrees before flying away at greater speed. No sunlight reflected from its dense black exterior.

*

"Mummy, mummy!!" a high-pitched childish voice squeaked. "Lookit those fellers in dresses!"

Following her child's chubby pointing finger, the mother spotted the three Jedi and goggled. Meeting her gaze, Qui-Gon inclined his head in greeting. Colouring with embarrassment at being caught rudely staring, she dropped her eyes and hauled the boy away.

"Don't be silly, Jake," she hissed, cramming a sweet into the child's mouth. "They're not dresses, they're robes, they're probably some kind of religious sect, maybe monks."

"Whatsa monk, mummy?" Jake demanded, sucking on his sweet, still staring with the unabashed curiosity of a small child. 

Readjusting the weight of her shopping bags over her arm, his mother sighed, realising she was in for a barrage of questions. Reluctantly allowing himself to be towed away, Jake turned around and waved, delighted when the blond boy waved back. 

It was mid afternoon and the sky had begun to dull, rolling grey rain clouds chasing the sun. The Jedi had made their way from the warehouse with minimal contact with residents. It seemed most people were out at work, or hurrying home to avoid being caught in the impending rain shower. Still near the city centre, though now in a residential district, they stopped at a street corner. Anakin sidled over to examine a parked car, touching a fingertip to the shiny metallic blue bodywork. 

"Careful, Ani," Obi-Wan cautioned. "It may have a security system, we don't want you to lose an arm."

Anakin snatched away his fingers, startled, then grinned sheepishly as he realised his Master was teasing. He was entranced by the cars he had seen, comparing them to the speeders used by residents of Tatooine. They were roughly similar in shape, but had wheels instead of antigrav thrusters. He glanced up at Qui-Gon, who was thoughtfully studying the large sandstone building across the street. The building was old, the corners and elaborately carved lintels softened and scarred by the weather, but the windows were new. The warm cinnamon tones of the stone appealed to Anakin after a year on glittering silver Coruscant. It appeared to have been converted into several living apartments. What its former purpose had been was unclear, but it vaguely reminded him of the storage warehouses used by junk dealers. 

His perusal of the building complete, Qui-Gon looked at the Padawan, who was gingerly peering into the interior of the internal combustion engine vehicle, his braid trailing over his shoulder. He had an insatiable curiousity where machines were concerned, needing to know how they worked and what they were used for. Suddenly detecting a strong presence in the Force, the Jedi Master's blue eyes lifted and despite himself he found the breath catching in his throat. Sensing the same presence, Obi-Wan looked up and saw what Qui-Gon had seen, his mouth falling open.

Crossing the road some distance away was a tall, slender woman in a long, close-fitting red velvet coat. Visible beneath the coat were the pocket-kneed black trousers and chunky-soled boots favoured by many young women the Jedi had seen in the city. Her stride was long and easy, with something of the economical grace of a Jedi. Stepping onto the pavement, she unhurriedly made her way towards the sandstone building. Her straight dark hair was cut short, highlighted with vibrant titian streaks that were probably artificial. 

Pausing to rewind a red and purple scarf around her neck, she delved in her pocket for her keys. Fair-skinned, dark-eyed and obviously human, she nevertheless bore a striking, astonishingly close resemblance to the Jedi Master's dead bondmate. Qui-Gon was rapt, blue eyes very bright, hands clenching inside his sleeves. 

"By the Force," he heard Obi-Wan whisper. "She's exactly like Mistress Nox."

As the Jedi watched, a young man in his late twenties clutching a wrapped bottle bounded up behind her, calling to her enthusiastically.

"Karis!" he cried. "There you are. Are you coming to my house-warming tomorrow night?"

She turned and smiled warmly, causing a tight fist to clench about the Jedi Master's heart. Reaching out, he touched her mind to ascertain what she was feeling. She was pleased to see the young man, who was obviously a new neighbour, but also tired and preoccupied. Something was bothering her. It showed in a tightness about her eyes, in faint blue shadows marring the delicate flesh beneath. Suddenly, she laughed delightedly and placed a hand on her neighbour's arm as he cracked a joke. Despite his self-control, a piercing ache developed under Qui-Gon's ribs, a pain as physical as it was mental. He abruptly longed to go over, to talk to her, ask her what was troubling her, anything to hear her laugh again. 

"Qui-Gon," Obi-Wan warned softly, sensing his feelings. "Remember, it is not our place to interfere. We're here to observe only."

The Jedi Master frowned, knowing his former apprentice was right. He knew Obi-Wan had come along to act as a voice of reason. It wryly amused him to be warned about his feelings by a young man who until a year ago had been his Padawan. 

"Yes, Master," he murmured dryly. "Don't centre on your anxieties, Obi-Wan. I haven't lost my focus."

To his credit, Obi-Wan managed to smile, gently but succinctly reminded who was the Jedi Master. Anakin was staring at her, mouth hanging open, the parked car forgotten. Still talking animatedly with her neighbour, she strolled towards to the entrance at the back of the building. Qui-Gon's gaze followed her until she was out of sight, his back straight, hands folded into the sleeves of his robe. A small sigh escaped him and his eyes slipped shut in an attempt to re-establish his centre. Silence. Nobody spoke.

"Master." Obi-Wan sounded worried. "She's carrying a droid locator tag."

"What?" The bearded Jedi's eyes snapped open and he took the proffered scanner. "How is that possible?"

As if in answer, a spherical black probe droid appeared, skirting the roofs of nearby buildings. Humming quietly along in the murky overcast afternoon, staying hidden behind rooftops, it halted over the sandstone apartment block. All three Jedi recognised the design of the sinister floating mechanical ball. Crossing the road in a burst of Force-speed, moving so quickly he melted into a beige brown blur, Qui-Gon stretched out a hand. The probe droid lurched drunkenly and dropped out of the sky, clanging to the pavement, shattering the flagstones. Blazing green, the Jedi Master's lightsabre made short work of it, cleaving it into two smoking, sparking halves. 

"Did it get chance to transmit her location?" he demanded as Obi-Wan and Anakin arrived at his side.

The young Knight checked the scanner, brows drawing together in a frown. After a few moments he looked up, concern darkening his blue grey eyes. 

"It transmitted a partial set of coordinates," he said, bending to retrieve an undamaged central data chip from the droid's interior. "We haven't much time."

Neither Jedi voiced the obvious. They had been followed through the rift by someone who used the same probe droids as the tattoed Sith who caused such carnage on Naboo. Such droids were too small to withstand the gravimetric forces within the rift, indicating the presence of another ship. Whoever had followed them did not want to be discovered, that much was clear. 

"Master," Anakin hissed at Obi-Wan, staring at the wreckage of the droid. "I thought Master Qui-Gon killed Darth Maul?"

"He did," Obi-Wan replied curtly. "But whoever sent that droid is no friend."

Without another word, he pulled his Padawan to his side and they broke into a sprint, following Qui-Gon around the back of the building. They had half an hour at the very most before either more droids or the owner traced the partial signal. He shared Qui-Gon's sense of urgency; a disturbance in the Force signalling hostile intentions convinced him they had to get the woman, Karis, out of the area. Whoever had tagged her must have discovered she was the reincarnation of a Jedi, a science project undesirables the galaxy over would fall over themselves to obtain.

*

Unbuttoning her coat, Karis threw it over the back of the jewel purple sofa and crossed to the kitchen to switch on the kettle. Her large open plan apartment consisted of a huge lower floor and a smaller upper floor accessed by a winding black wrought iron staircase. The upper floor housed two bedrooms and the bathroom, the only rooms separated by walls. Floored with smooth varnished pine boards instead of carpet, the lower floor had a kitchen area to the back, a three piece suite, television, video and stereo in one corner and exercise equipment in the other, but the majority of the space was dedicated to her work. 

By the large window, where the light was best, stood her desk and drawing board. Two huge cork panels covered with unfinished work flanked it. The space beneath the desk was taken up with boxes and boxes of pens, paint, brushes and neat stacks of paper in varying sizes. A massive silver-framed print from 'The Phantom Menace' hung above the reproduction white marble fireplace. The apartment was untidy, but not overly so, indicative of a busy life rather than laziness. 

Dumping a generous spoonful of instant coffee into an outsized green mug, she waited for the kettle to boil. Absently rubbing at her neck, she winced. On her way home she had felt a brief impact and a sharp sting, like someone had thrown a pointed stone or piece of glass at her. She had looked around for the culprit, but only saw an arthritic pensioner tottering his way to the local pub. Pouring the water, she made the coffee without milk. Her head was a little fuzzy from an afternoon drinking ridiculously expensive wine and chatting to Illona in her favourite lunchtime haunt, the Italian-themed Cantina Bar. Throwing herself into the beckoning arms of the sofa, shoulders slumped, she recalled her neighbour's party invitation.

__

Owen's a nice lad, she thought, stretching out her legs. _And I could do with a pleasant distraction at the moment._

Sipping reflectively at her coffee, she half-heartedly considered what she should wear. At that moment the doorbell rang. When she had first moved in, the doorbell had been a shrill electronic ring that grated on her nerves. One of the first things she had done was to change it to a softer musical chime. Sighing, she set her mug down at the side of the sofa and hauled herself to her feet.

__

Who could that be? she wondered, then smiled sillily to herself. _Maybe it's Master Yoda come to borrow a cup of sugar. Come to think of it, how did they get past the security door?_

The bell rang again, insistently. Karis frowned and quickened her step, whoever it was they were certainly impatient. Unlatching the door, her mocha eyes widened and she blinked, shocked and speechless. Two men and a boy stood outside her apartment. The boy was about ten years old, cherub-faced and blond haired, a long thin braid trailing over his shoulder. He looked up at her and tentatively smiled. The younger man trained his blue grey eyes on her, their sparkle softening the serious set to his mouth. Taller by head and shoulders, the older bearded man was powerfully built and chisel-featured, his long silver brown hair falling to his shoulders. All three were dressed in creamy beige wrap-over tunics, dark pants, tall leather boots and sweeping nut brown robes. She thought she caught a glimpse of lightsabre shafts at the belts of the two men, who both exuded a profound spiritual serenity. 

"Don't be alarmed, we come in peace," the older man said, his voice deep, rich as cream and slightly lilting. "I'm Qui-Gon Jinn, and this is-"

"Yeah," Karis broke in, struggling to recover her composure beneath his intense blue-eyed gaze. "Don't tell me, he's Obi-Wan Kenobi and the kid is Anakin Skywalker."

For the first time in years, the Jedi Master was completely taken aback. He felt Obi-Wan's shock echo his own. She seemed annoyed by their appearance on her doorstep, her hands creeping to her hips.

"Was this Illona's idea?" she demanded, looking from one man to the other. "A little joke, perhaps?"

"No," Qui-Gon said levelly. "We don't know Illona."

"Oh, I get it," she breathed, her lustrous brown eyes narrowing. "There's copyright on my characters, gentlemen, I hope you realise that."

Obi-Wan looked at the young woman, hearing the anger in her voice. She was obviously in no mood for whatever game she assumed they were playing. 

__

'Master, what is she talking about?' he asked silently. _'And how does she know who we are?'_

'I have no idea,' Qui-Gon sent back. _'But I intend to find out. We haven't time for this.'_

"Let us come in and talk to you, Karis," he said softly, making a subtle movement with his right hand. "You have nothing to fear or be angry about."

The heat of her anger subsiding as the mind-trick took effect, she stood back and allowed them over the threshold. Once safely inside, Obi-Wan motioned for Anakin to watch the window. The Padawan obeyed unquestioningly, skidding across the smooth wooden floor. He looked around the apartment and saw the hundreds of drawings, paintings, storyboards and prints pinned on cork boards or stacked on the floor. His gaze darted to the gigantic print above the fireplace that depicted him and Qui-Gon in mirror defensive positions, lightsabres activated, Anakin standing between them.

Qui-Gon walked to the drawing board, thick fingers brushing the fine quality paper as he looked at the drawing. The picture showed Anakin and Obi-Wan kneeling, engaged in their daily meditation. His gaze dropped to the litter bin beneath the desk. A dark furrow appeared on his forehead and he bent to retrieve the torn drawing.

"What is this, Karis?" he asked gruffly, striding forward. "Can you tell me what you meant by 'your characters'?"

Karis frowned and folded her arms, hardly believing she had let the trio in, much less allowed them to pick through her work. Obi-Wan – the man pretending to be Obi-Wan, she mentally corrected, stood in the centre of the room, looking around with a neutral expression on his face. His likeness to the Jedi in her dreams was unnerving, as was that of the older man and the boy. It was as if one of her drawings had come to life and stepped from the paper into the real world.

"It's my work," she stated. "I'm a comic book artist, as if you didn't know. That's from 'The Phantom Menace'."

Qui-Gon's expression altered almost imperceptibly, a torn half of the drawing in either hand. Silently, Obi-Wan stole to his side, a thick paperback comic book in his hand which he wordlessly handed over. 

"It's all there, Master," he observed as the bearded Jedi flicked through the glossy, boldly-drawn pages. "The entire Naboo mission from start to finish."

Eyebrows lifting, the Jedi Master closed the book and turned to face Karis, who had moved to stand protectively before her drawing board. She met his gaze defiantly, chin lifting. Averting his eyes to avoid seeming confrontational, Qui-Gon held up the comic.

"Where does your inspiration come from?" he asked. "How did you decide on the storyline?"

She was silent, gaze dropping to the floor, her feet, anywhere but the questioning, compelling blue of his eyes. Still having no earthly idea why she had let them in or allowed them to question her, she laced her fingers and bit her lip. His eyes dipped and he appeared momentarily distant, as if listening to faint music. 

"Did you dream it?" he questioned gently. "A dream so vivid, so real, you were driven to put it down on paper?"

Karis's chocolate eyes flew up to meet his own, wide and startled. She took an involuntary step forward, lips parting to speak.

"Yes!" she cried, surprised by the forcefulness of her voice. "How did you know? I've not told anyone that, not Illona, not anyone."

He did not comment or elaborate further, he simply fixed her with his penetrating blue eyes until she blushed, certain he could read every thought she had ever had or was likely to think. The younger man shifted position, expression unreadable. At the window, the boy was examining a set of coloured pencils with avid fascination.

"You believe what you have drawn is fiction?" The deep lilting voice soothed her jangled nerves, made her want to trust him implicitly. "That it's not real?"

Qui-Gon watched her carefully, looking for her reaction. It was possible memories of her previous life had filtered through on a subconscious level, finding expression in her artwork. It would explain why she thought they were imposters infringing copyright.

"Yes… no!" She abruptly seemed confused, upset and unsure. "I-I don't know," she finished miserably, tears suddenly darting in her eyes.

Without considering it, the Jedi Master stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, rubbing soothingly with his thumb. She jumped and looked up, her brown eyes brimming with unshed tears of confusion and frustration. 

"I-It all seemed so real," she whispered. "A-and I've been having the dreams so much recently…"  
Wiping her eyes on the back of her hand, she took a deep breath, wondering why she had confessed her innermost thoughts to complete strangers who had turned up on her doorstep dressed as Jedi. She had been telling herself for weeks her dreams were the product of an over-active artist's imagination. Now she was not so sure. There was something about the two men and the boy, especially the man claiming to be Qui-Gon Jinn, that called to her soul. Collecting herself, she shook off the hand on her shoulder and straightened.

"Look," she said firmly. "I don't know who you are, or what you're trying to pull, but I think you'd better go. Some people have said my grip on reality is shaky, and at this precise moment I tend to agree with them. Will all of you please get out. _Now_."

The men exhanged glances, a wordless communication seeming to pass between them. At the window, the child put down the coloured pencils and looked to the younger man.

"We can't, Karis. You're in danger and we're here to protect you."

Incredulous, Karis folded her arms and stared at them. All three, the boy included, seemed deadly serious and sincere. She looked to the man who said he was Qui-Gon, finding him composed but extremely alert. 

"And just what or who am I in danger from?" she asked disbelievingly. "Don't tell me Darth Maul is going to come bursting through the door to skewer me with his lightsabre."

To her surprise, Qui-Gon nearly flinched, but controlled the reaction before it occurred. Unconsciously, she put a hand to her neck and rubbed at the sore spot, frowning as her fingers came away coated with sticky half-dried blood. 

"This is ridiculous," she muttered, staring at the sticky redness, starting to feel angry and affronted again. "Who're you trying to kid?"

"You see that?" He stepped forward and took up her hand, pointing to the blood. "That is from a droid locator tag. You were hit sometime this afternoon. It would have felt like a sharp sting. At this moment, the owner of that droid is tracing the signal here. We have to leave, Karis, soon."

Feeling her sense of reality, the boundaries between the mundane world and the inner realm of imagination, fantasy and creativity begin to slip, to blur, Karis felt like she was swimming upstream against rapids. The large, powerful male hand gripping her own was warm, slightly callused and undeniably real. So was the wordless sense of urgency communicated by a small tightening of his fingers. 

"Why." Her throat constricted and she was forced to clear it before she could speak. "Why would anyone want to tag me, assuming for one minute I believe all the crap you've been spouting?"

Obi-Wan's blue grey eyes darkened and the line of his shoulders tensed. He looked to his former Master, wondering what he would do. She had a right to know why she was being pursued, even if they did not know by whom. All their intentions not to make contact, not to interfere, had been rendered pointless the moment they had discovered she had been tagged by a droid from their own galaxy. 

"There's a reason you've been having your dreams." He heard Qui-Gon say quietly, his voice low and calm. "You possess the genetic sequences and memories of Lyxandra Nox, which it appears you access subconsciously. In short, you are her reincarnation, which makes you of interest to enemies the galaxy over."

The young woman looked utterly thunderstruck, which was hardly surprising. She gaped and her eyes grew huge in her face. Obi-Wan darted a rapid glance out the window, searching for aerial black spheres. Time was quickly running out. She shook her head fiercely, pulling her hands from Qui-Gon's.

"Rubbish!" she hissed. "I don't believe you! Anyway, if you were Jedi, you wouldn't have to stand here and argue with me, you could make me believe you."

"We can't do that," Qui-Gon said. "Please try to understand, time is short."

"You could use a mind-trick on me," she shot back defensively. 

"No, we couldn't. This is a decision you have to make for yourself. We can't use our power to influence you."

Karis fumbled her way to the sofa and dropped heavily onto it, leaning her head in her hands. Everything she thought she knew was called into question. The concept of reincarnation was familiar to her, but she had never seriously considered or believed it. There was no way anyone could have known about her dreams unless they could sense her emotions, like a Jedi. Reality did a double backflip around her as she struggled to rationalise the events of the past fifteen minutes. She felt the sofa creak as someone sat next to her and looked up to see the boy peering at her with guileless cornflower blue eyes.

"Please, don't be sad," he said, brushing a wayward strand of wheat gold hair from his forehead.

Despite her turmoil, Karis felt a her lips curve into a smile. Unable to stop herself, she reached out and cupped his soft round cheek in her hand. He smiled back, a sunny, completely deceit-free grin. The window shattered at her back, shards of razor glass spraying inwards, dragged by the passing of a crackling red energy bolt. It hit the far wall, leaving a smoking hole in the plaster and brick. The hissing whoosh of activating lightsabres reached her ears almost the same instant the glass broke. Dazzled by the electric blue luminance as Obi-Wan lunged forward, 'sabre blocking a bolt that would have hit his Padawan, she threw herself flat, instinctively pulling Anakin with her. 

"Let's go – now!!" Qui-Gon barked, turning in a swirl of brown robes.

Dropping down, his large fingers encircled her wrist, yanking her to her feet. Anakin leapt up, racing to his Master's side. Yellow plumes of burnt sponge puffed into the air as the sofa took multiple hits, fluffy motes floating like confetti. Karis was up and running as fast as she could before she had time to register what was happening. Boots clattering down the stairs, she slipped and almost fell, but a strong hand slipped under her arm to steady her. 

Bursting out into the grey sunless afternoon, blinking as drizzle got into her eyes, she heard a low mechanical whine and looked up to see several jet black probe droids bobbing in the air level with her apartment window. They broke formation, diving like sentient cannonballs, raining crimson bolts. Blue and green, the Jedi's 'sabres whistled and hummed, deflecting the droid's fire back at them. Struck by their own energy bolts, three droids shrieked, exploding in cascading sparks and twisted slivers of metal. 

"Head back to the ship," Qui-Gon ordered, lightsabre a dancing emerald blur as he parried more bolts. "There's too many bystanders here."

People were running, screaming with fright and shock, or simply standing motionless with their mouths hanging open, half-remembered snippets of science fiction movies running through their heads. The late afternoon traffic beeped, snarled and slowed to a crawl as motorists caught sight of the Jedi, the hovering droids and flashing tangle of energy weapon fire. 

"So much for not attracting undue attention," Obi-Wan muttered, ducking as one of the remaining droids banked in low. 

Yelping as a stray bolt tore up the pavement at her feet, Karis leapt back, nostrils filled with the smell of charred concrete. Sliced through, the droid that had fired fell, scattering its wire innards across the road. Sprinting down the street after Anakin, who was beckoning to her and seemed to know where he was going, she fought an urge to look back at the Jedi. 

"C'mon!" the boy urged. "They'll be alright, they always are!"

Rising from behind a nearby semi-detached house, a new droid of slightly different design zipped through the stationary traffic, nearly clipping the roof of a Landrover. It headed directly for Anakin and Karis, a small appendage emerging from its centre. Firing a circular burst of lime green energy, it swung around for another pass. Anakin's blue eyes widened and he threw himself at Karis, hoping to floor her before she was hit. He was a fraction too late. Struck full on the torso, she spun like a child's top, her eyes rolling back to silver rims as she collapsed.

"MASTER!" Anakin bellowed shrilly, vainly trying to pick up the limp, seemingly boneless form.

The Jedi were at his side in seconds, Obi-Wan arriving last as he dispatched another droid. Deactivating his lightsabre, Qui-Gon dropped to one knee and carefully peeled back one of Karis's eyelids. When the pupil contracted in the light, he scooped her up like she weighed no more than a child. 

"It's alright, Ani," he soothed, seeing the beginnings of panic in the young Padawan's expression. "She's just stunned, no lasting harm done."

Hearing the faint buzz of more approaching droids, along with a blaring siren he assumed belonged to local security forces, the Jedi Master straightened. Small clusters of people had gathered along the roadside, whispering and pointing, staring nervously at the sky in expectation of more flying mechanical monstrosities. Some things did not change, no matter what universe they were in. People would always gather at inappropriate times and places, putting themselves and others in danger. Resting Karis's lolling head against his shoulder, he nodded to Obi-Wan. 

"I think it's time we left."

Powering down his 'sabre, the young Knight beckoned Anakin to his side. Extending the influence of the Force in a combined application of unnatural speed, the Jedi shot away, appearing to vanish where they stood. Minutes later, two police squad cars roared up, blue lights flashing, sirens wailing. Stepping out of the car, pulling on his cap, an officer took out his notebook, licked his pencil and stopped dead. He stared down at the droid wreckage at his feet, pencil poised over a clean page. As his colleagues questioned and unsuccessfully attempted to move on the crowds that had gathered, he turned to his partner.

"What on earth are we going to tell the gov?"

"Blokes in robes with lasers on sticks? Flying black balls that shoot people?" his partner said incredulously. "Christ knows, 'cos I don't… Who's going to believe that?!"

*

   [1]: http://www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm



	3. Death Shall Have No Dominion Part 3/?

Title: Death Shall Have No Dominion   
Author: The Duchess Of The Dark   
Teaser: Alternative scenario of during & after The Phantom Menace

Rating: PG13 – no nasties in here, unless you count Darth Maul

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to The Flannelled One. I own not, you sue my regrettably pear-shaped English arse not. Karis Kavanagh, Lyxandra Nox & all other non-canon characters are mine.

Genre: Action/adventure and hints of more to come. For more dark fiction (not fanfic) visit my page at Illona's Place Vampires [www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm][1]

Archive: Yes, but ask me first, please.   
Notes: Loved it? Loathed it? Tell me please... Third of many chapters! Unfinished…

Obi-Wan slung himself into the pilot's chair and quickly activated the ship's systems, helped by Anakin. Brightening from a muted amber, the illumination increased. The ship stirred around them as the hyperdrive powered up, various indicators altering. Behind him, the cockpit door hissed open and Qui-Gon strode in. 

"I'm showing another ship in orbit," Obi-Wan reported. "It's moving to intercept. I don't know how, but it can detect us even though we're cloaked."

"It's the hyperdrive," the bearded Jedi surmised grimly. "This planet has nothing that uses a similar energy source, it wouldn't be hard to track. Deactivate the cloak, it's draining power, and get us off the ground."

The young Knight complied immediately, but with an air of reluctance. He knew they had to prevent their pursuer capturing Karis, which was clearly the intent since a droid armed with a stun weapon had been deployed, but was uncomfortable taking her off the planet.

"She may panic when she wakes to find herself in space," he commented softly as the ship steadily rose from the ground, angling sharply upwards.

Shifting his weight as the ship changed direction, Qui-Gon's gaze hardened, but he did not look at his former apprentice.

"She would have more cause to panic if she woke to find herself prisoner, Obi-Wan."

Obi-Wan did not respond, knowing he was right. Touching a pad, he increased the ship's speed, streaking cloud vapour momentarily obscuring the cockpit window as they soared through the atmosphere. Anakin looked to the Jedi Master, biting his lip before speaking.

"Master Qui-Gon, sir," he began. "What're we going to do? I know we weren't supposed to 'get involved', but we can't take her back now, can we? If we do, _they'll_ get her."

"We shall do what we must, Anakin," Qui-Gon responded crisply. "The Force will guide us."

Slicing though the upper atmosphere, the silver ship emerged into space, solar flares reflecting rainbow spangled luminance from the burnished hull. Breaking orbit, it moved away. Anakin watched the sensors, wondering where the other ship was. He received an answer moments later when the deafening thud of laser fire rumbled through the structure of the ship, shaking the very floor beneath him. 

"Shields down ten percent," Qui-Gon reported evenly.

"Taking evasive action," Obi-Wan responded.

Banking smoothly to the left, lateral thrusters firing, the teardrop ship swung out of the line of fire. Dangerously close, the attacking ship screeched overhead, momentarily obliterating the stars as it passed. Poised aggressively in space, it was a compact double epsilon-winged black ship bristling with armaments. Anakin heard himself suck in a gasp, the galaxy trembling as another crimson volley rocked the ship. He saw Obi-Wan's fingers seek out the targeting scanners, feeling the ship gather itself beneath him. Compressed bolts of intense streaking green emitted from either side of the cockpit, showing as crackling bluish explosions against the shields of the other ship.

"Shields down twenty three percent," Anakin cried before Qui-Gon could.

Veering back and forth, exchanging rapid salvoes of fire, the ships made move after counter move, matching each other time and again. A sudden audible warning pulse dragged the Jedi's attention from the battle.

"Shields failing," Obi-Wan announced, diverting power to bolster the faltering shields. "Master, we're outgunned, but we can outrun them."

The Jedi Master nodded agreement. Theirs was a small vessel without astromech droids to repair any damage. Faced with superior weaponry, the only choice was to run or risk the destruction of the ship. Fast and supremely manouverable, they could escape.

"Take us back through the rift," he instructed firmly. "Once we're through jump to hyperspace. By the time they emerge, we'll be out of pursuit range. We can bring Karis back later."

Before he had finished speaking, Obi-Wan had already tapped in the return course through the rift. The ship hummed beneath them, leaping forward to evade the sights of the anonymous attacker. Engines flashing blue green, it sped towards the glimmering irregular tear in space.

_How much later?_ he thought to himself. _You know as well as I that we can't leave her or bring her back without dealing with whoever is pursuing us. Be mindful, my Master, don't get too attached to this girl. Whatever she recalls in her dreams, she's not Lyxandra Nox. Her name is Karis and she has a life, friends and probably a family on Earth._

No sooner had he thought this when the ship began to tremble, snared by the immense gravimetric pull of the spatial rift. Like a lassoed eopie, the ship was dragged into the heart of the anomaly. Bracing himself against the vaguely unpleasant tingling sensation that preceeded entry, he watched the cockpit arc away like melted plastic as blackness reached out to claim him. Dimly, he heard the proximity alarm shrieking, telling him their pursuer was not far behind.

*

Consciousness came trickling back by painful degrees. First, an awareness of self, then a realisation that the self was connected to a body that ached in several places. Letting out a groan, Karis's hands came up to her pounding head. As she did so, her fingers encountered resistance in the form of a thick blanket. Rolling onto her side, her booted feet touched a solid durasteel wall. She stiffened, knowing that no matter how late she arrived home, or how drunk she was, she would never get into bed wearing her boots. Cautiously, she screwed open one eye to see a creamy buff wall, partially obscured by a corner of tan blanket draped over her head.

_It wasn't a dream!!_

Inhaling sharply, she sat bolt upright, narrowly avoiding bashing her head on the metal bunk frame. Sitting up so quickly was a mistake. The room swirled madly and she listed to one side, her spatial orientation scrambled. Strong hands beneath her elbows prevented her from tumbling to the floor, the narrow bunk creaking as someone sat on the side.

"Careful," a soft rich voice admonished mildly. "You're still suffering from the stun blast. How do you feel?"

Her vision slowly reverting from fuzzy double, Karis squinted as something pale beige and dark rusty brown swam in and out of focus. Gradually, it coalesced into a wrap-over tunic and robes she recognised as belonging to Qui-Gon. Realising she was clinging to his arms like a drowning victim, she pried off her fingers and raised her head.

"Where am I?" she muttered, grimacing at how loud and echoing her voice seemed.

Deft and remarkably gentle, his large fingers tipped her chin, expertly checking her head for lumps, abraisons and other signs of injury. Breath hissing between her teeth as jolting pain lanced through her head from temple to temple, she shut her eyes as he felt the vertebrae down her neck.

"You're onboard our ship… I gather that hurt?"

"Yeah, just a bit," she glared, putting a hand to her brow with a frown of discomfort. "That droid shot me, and seen as I'm not dead, I think, it must have just stunned me."

A look of complete consternation suddenly slackened her features, brown eyes darting, hands fluttering up. Sensing the cause of her concern, Qui-Gon caught her hands.

"Anakin is fine," he assured. "He wasn't hurt."

Karis slumped with relief, abruptly exhausted. Her eyes slid momentarily shut, then her chin lifted and she gazed steadily at him.

"I assume this whole thing wasn't a long and particularly frightening dream then," she observed quietly.

Blue eyes crinkling with mixed empathy, sadness and a tinge of regret, he nodded silently. Looking down at her hands, dwarfed by his own, the fingernails and tips coloured by a delicate scrim of ink and paint, he did not speak.

"There's something wrong, isn't there?" she said, making no attempt to withdraw her hands.

Qui-Gon's expression did not alter, impassive with Jedi calm perfected over a lifetime. Warm, callused where she held her pens, her fingers curled infinitesimally around his.

"What makes you think that?" he asked.

"Your eyes," she answered. "And your expression. You have the Jedi inscrutable face on. What is it?"

Intuitive and naturally strong in the Force, despite the tendency for people from her planet to display a unusually high insensitivity, she waited for him to answer. Seeing a small frown cloud her forehead, Qui-Gon felt a momentary powerful reluctance to tell her.

"After you were stunned, we brought you to our ship and took off," he began. "We were pursued by whoever sent the droids and forced to leave the planet… there was a firefight."

Karis's eyes widened as she realised she was not only aboard a starship but in space. There was no trace of panic on her features, simply stunned wonder at the concept of blasting into orbit and beyond in a ship centuries beyond the reach of native technology. 

"And?" she prompted. "What happened?"

Qui-Gon paused, mind retreating to re-examine events in recent history, trying to formulate an explanation that would cause least distress even though he knew there was no easy or painless way. 

"First you need to know how we came to be here, on Earth. We came through a spatial rift, a tear in the fabric of space. We tracked you through it and emerged just outside your solar system… we have no knowledge of this region, it exists in a different time, a different dimension to ours."

A certain quality to her eyes told him she understood at least that much. Intelligent, with a rudimentary science-fiction fed grasp of temporal physics, she had realised Anakin's age placed events in their galaxy not long after Lyxandra's death on Naboo, making concurrent timelines an impossibility. Whether or not she believed she was Lyxandra's reincarnation was unclear. It was a delicate question better left to another time. 

"The ship that followed us was heavily-armed, forcing us to retreat back through the rift. When we emerged, it followed." Qui-Gon stopped, drew a breath and continued. "As soon as it cleared the rift, it opened fire and sealed it. I'm sorry, Karis, but we have no way of reopening it. We had to jump to hyperspace to avoid being destroyed… I'm afraid we're unable to take you home."

Karis turned very pale, her lips thinning with shock, fingers tightening about his until her knuckles showed ivory through the skin. Tumultuous emotion raged behind her eyes, their dusky brown hue suddenly unnaturally bright and torrid. Reaching out a tendril of thought, Qui-Gon sought to ascertain her state of mind. Unconsciously withdrawing from the featherlight mental touch, instinctively throwing up a blank, shielding wall around her mind, she pulled her hands from his. Drawing her knees up to her chin, she wrapped her arms around her shins, instantly withdrawn.

Feeling tired and a painful sense of responsibility, the Jedi Master resisted the impulse to reach out and comfort her. He simply sat on the edge of the bunk, knowing he would not feel so keenly guilty if he had told the same news to anyone but her. A Jedi was supposed to live his or her life with remorse, without regret, knowing that nothing occurred by accident, that events were controlled by the Force. As much as they aspired to, any true Jedi would admit it was not always possible. In this instance he could not help feeling responsible for cutting her off from her home, life and family. If he had not decided to seek her out, it would not have happened. 

She looked up, rich velvety brown eyes dull with heavy realisation, yet utterly tearless. 

"You said you were followed through the rift," she whispered, voice thick. "Did you know someone was after me, is that why the Jedi Council sent you?"

Qui-Gon shook his head wordlessly, knowing that a lie now would ease her pain in the short term but not in the long. Like most Jedi, he lied when circumstances demanded it, when it was necessary for the greater good, but could not lie now. 

"The Council didn't send me," he admitted, voice a quiet rumble. "I acted of my own volition, for my own reasons. We didn't know we were being followed."

She grew extremely still and turned her face to the wall, eyes squeezing shut with dawning comprehension. 

"Be mindful of your feelings, Master Jedi," she said colourlessly. "They've caused enough heartache in both our galaxies."

A single tear trickled from the corner of her closed eyes, tracing a salty wet path down the side of her nose, running around the curve of her upper lip. Sensing how desperately she was fighting to come to terms with the fact she was trapped in an alien dimension, how her entire being strained to rationalise the knowledge, Qui-Gon reached out, unable to stop himself. It was something he naturally did without discrimination for anyone who was distressed, such was his sensitivity to the Living Force.

"Don't you touch me!" she hissed, slapping his hand away, suddenly blazingly furious. "You don't have the right! I'm not _her_ and never will be, no matter what bloody dreams, memories or hallucinations are running around my head. And you can take your damned Jedi sympathy and stick it up your hyperdrive!"

Positively quivering with rage, hurt, confusion and frustration, she turned away, huddling into the corner of the bunk nearest the wall, cradling her aching head in her hands. Standing, robes sighing softly around his ankles, Qui-Gon headed for the door. Although he knew he was the nearest convenient target, the only outlet for her anger, the raw pain and accusation in her voice stung him more than it should have. 

_I know who you are, Karis, but I also know who you were…_

Hesitating at the door, he looked back to see her curled in a protective foetal ball, looking vulnerable and far smaller than her height dictated. With an inward sigh, he left, leaving her to collect her thoughts.

*

Four hours later, Obi-Wan stepped into the compact sleeping quarters carrying a loaded tray. Lightening his step in case she was asleep, he approached the foot of the bunk. With a small involuntary start, she rolled over, eyes darting. Seeing who it was, she sat up, eying him with resignment.

"I thought you might be hungry," he said, placing the tray on the tiny metal table. "It's been some time since you've eaten."

She nodded and cleared her throat, slowly standing up. Clutching the struts of the bunk, she swayed dizzily for a moment, then regained her balance. 

"Thanks," she said shortly, making her way to the table and dropping heavily into a chair.

Picking up the cup, she gulped down several mouthfuls of pallie juice, pausing to examine the bright ruby colour of the liquid. Settling himself into the other chair, Obi-Wan took a moment to study her. Short dark hair tousled about her forehead, she looked pale and slightly shell-shocked, which was to be expected after what had happened to her. Unused to relying on others, she struck him as a strong, independent-minded woman with something of a temper if roused. Her creativity reminded him of the artisans of Alderaan, who found something of interest in everything they saw. Despite her current situation, she was studying everything around her; the furniture, the weave of his tunic, the colour and consistency of the food on her plate. He could almost see her hands itching to take up pencil and paper.

Qui-Gon had returned to the cockpit after checking on her, even more reserved than usual. Taking one look at his former Master's eyes, at what lay beind, Obi-Wan had known better than to ask. 

"This is really nice," she commented, breaking the silence. "What is it?"

"Pallie juice," he replied, resting his hands on his knees. He smiled briefly. "Anakin likes it, and so do I." 

She smiled back, somewhat tentatively, and dropped her eyes to her plate. After some minutes of eating, she set down her fork and looked up.

"Well, Obi-Wan, you've had a good look at me," she observed with mild sarcasm. "Do you think you've picked up another pathetic lifeform, another of your ex-Master's pet projects?"

Holding her gaze steadily, Obi-Wan shook his head, leaning forward on his elbows.

"No," he said, accent crystal-cut, sounding uncannily upper class British to Karis's ear. "I won't lie to you, I was against looking for you, but it was something Qui-Gon felt he had to do."

Swirling the remains of the pallie juice around the beaker, Karis did not comment, but she had lost her air of defensive sarcasm. The dark shadows had deepened beneath her eyes, leading Obi-Wan to the conclusion she had not slept in the hours since waking from enforced unconsciousness. 

"Don't blame him, Karis," he said earnestly. "In all likelihood whoever was pursuing you would have found you even if we hadn't. There are scientists from many systems studying the rift. The knowledge is there for anyone with sufficient technology and dactaris."

Leaning back in her chair, she took a deep breath, wincing as her head throbbed in time with the low hum of the ship's hyperdrive. She had listened to the subtle cadence of the engines for over four hours, concentrating on them to help settle her disorganised mind.

"I suppose I should be grateful that it's your ship I ended up on rather than that of whoever sent those droids," she allowed. 

Setting down her cup, she hugged her arms to herself. Sensing she wanted to ask a question but was reluctant to, Obi-Wan tipped his chin.

"You don't have to worry about asking any questions, I'll answer them if I can."

Karis held her lower lip between her teeth, uncomfortable, then pressed ahead.

"What happened on Naboo after Darth Maul killed Lyxandra?" She shuddered, gaze returning to her dreams, then collected herself. "My publishers made me change the ending of the comic… I mean, I assumed you and Qui-Gon survived. I didn't dream what happened, I just felt you had."

Obi-Wan frowned, recalling the terrible hiss and stench of burning flesh as Maul plunged his lightsabre into Mistress Nox like he was gutting an animal, tattooed features alight with twisted triumph. Impaled on the crimson 'sabre, she had crumpled to the durasteel floor like a stringless puppet, her dark hair falling over her face. 

"Qui-Gon lost control," he stated, suppressing a grimace as his memory flashed an image of his Master's face contorted with utter hatred. "Something I've never seen him do. He threw himself at the Sith, they fought and my Master killed him, ran him through and knocked him over the edge of the melting pit."

Falling silent, the young Knight looked at the table top, remembering how the energy shield had lowered just in time for him to run to his Master's side as he collapsed to his knees on the brink of the pit, preventing him from following the Sith into oblivion. Karis shivered and rubbed at her arms, hearing the frenetic, crazed clash of 'sabre blades at the back of her mind, the crackle of mutual bitter animosity. 

"Hatred is the path to the Dark Side," she murmured, self-conscious at saying words previously confined to the pages of her comic.

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed, not thinking it strange she should say it. "But he mastered his hatred, rid himself of it. It is his grief that concerns me now."

"It's why you came with him," Karis finished with sudden insight. "Because he still grieves and you're worried what he'll do."

Obi-Wan flashed a wry smile and folded his hands into the sleeves of his robe, a gesture it seemed was common to Jedi. 

"Why were you not a Jedi in this life as well as the last?" he mused, blue eyes warm. 

A ghosted smile passed fleetingly over Karis's lips in response and she speared a yellow chunk of something she asumed was a vegetable on her fork. It was surprisingly good, a little like parsnip, but sweeter. Obi-Wan came across as a young man who tempered his serious nature with touches of mischievous humour, more assured than the Padawan in her dreams, but still settling into his life role of Jedi Knight. There were only a few years difference in their ages, but she felt he possessed a spiritual wisdom she could never attain.

"What will happen now I'm stuck here?" she asked. "What effect will my presence have?"

The young Jedi considered for a moment, "We'll take you to Coruscant and consult the Jedi Council," he paused and frowned slightly. "Who won't be pleased, I can promise you."

"I didn't mean that, exactly," she corrected softly. "I meant what effect my being here will have on Qui-Gon."

Obi-Wan, realising he had misunderstood the question, lifted a shoulder in a minimal helpless shrug. 

"I don't know," he admitted reluctantly. "It is unclear to me… My Master is a strong, disciplined man, a thoroughly consumate Jedi, but his weakness, if you can call it that, was always Mistress Nox."

Karis's fox brown eyes flickered, a perceivable wave of distress and anxiety radiating from her. Sensing she was worried about the possible repercussions of her presence on the Jedi Master, Obi-Wan allowed himself an inner sigh, but was also intrigued. She was in survival mode, thinking from moment to moment with regard to herself, but was concerned about the long-term welfare of a man she had only just met. Sitting in a somewhat uneasy silence as she finished her meal, the young Jedi Knight could foresee that the voyage back to Coruscant would be interesting. 

*

Qui-Gon Jinn woke from a deep sleep with the indisputable knowledge that someone nearby was in a considerable amount of discomfort. Lying on his back with his hands loosely folded across his abdomen, he extended himself through the Force. He could sense Obi-Wan in the cockpit, who was in a restful-alert state, and Anakin sound asleep in the bunk above Karis. Swinging his legs over the side of the bunk, he padded quietly across the small room on bare feet. 

A curled up hump beneath the blanket, only a tousled fringe of hair visible, she lay facing the wall. A light touch with the Force told the Jedi Master she was wide awake and in pain, both physical and mental. 

"Karis," he murmured. "You should have told me you were in pain."

The blanket rustled softly as she rolled over and inched it down with two fingers, eyes moist and shining in the dark. For some reason, he made her nervous. The only people he was accustomed to inspiring nervousness in were enemies and young Initiates overwhelmed by his height. 

"I didn't want to disturb you," she whispered, mindful of Anakin asleep in the top bunk. "You looked tired."

Qui-Gon sat on the side of the bunk gingerly. The regulation beds were not designed for someone of his size and tended to groan alarmingly. Two days had passed awkwardly. He had sensed her anger gradually dying away, but she had not yet felt able to talk to him. Obi-Wan seemed to get on with her better than he did, but it was Anakin she had taken to the most. The young Padawan had spent hours happily talking to her, answering her questions and giggling loudly when she said things he found funny. The previous night, Obi-Wan had come looking for his apprentice, only to find him asleep with his head in Karis's lap as she stroked his fine blond hair. 

"I'm getting old," he said without a trace of self-pity, risking turning back the edge of the blanket from her face. "Does your head still hurt?"

Karis nodded wearily, rubbing her chin as the edge of the blanket tickled it. Pushing back a stray lock of dark hair, her eyes narrowed, fingers seeking the bridge of her nose. 

"The stun blast should have worn off by now," the Jedi Master observed. "It could be the effects of the rift."

Suppressing a sigh as her eyes throbbed in time with her head, Karis gave a short, humourless burst of laughter. 

"Whatever it is, it's not pleasant, but I'll live."

Ignoring the veiled hint to leave her alone and go back to bed, Qui-Gon fixed her with his remarkable blue eyes. She was in more pain than he had previously thought, more than when she had woken from the stun blast. This struck him as odd as the mild concussion and headache associated with a heavy stun faded within a day or two. Her capacity to withstand pain was higher than normal, but a lack of sleep and her extremely unusual situtation had eroded that ability.

"Sit up," he instructed. "And we'll see what we can do to remedy it."

Momentarily hesitating, Karis did as she was asked, sliding her legs over the side of the bunk. Her posture was uneasy and a little defensive, back straight, knees pressed together, arms held close to her body. 

_She's not sure if she trusts me, _Qui-Gon realised.

"I want you to concentrate on the pain," he said softly. "And visualise it leaving you."

Looking doubtful, Karis closed her eyes and centred on the constant dull throb making her head feel like someone was trying to kick their way out from the inside. She almost started when the Jedi Master's hands settled lightly on her head, but kept her eyes shut.

_I'm jumpy as a frog in a blender, _she thought. _Nobody's had that effect on me for a good while._

Almost immediately, she felt a deep, relaxing warmth begin to spread through the crown of her head, seeping into her neck and shoulders. The pain started to receed, washed away by soothing waves of healing heat. Tiny pulses flared at the sites of the worst discomfort; behind her eyes, at her temples and the base of her skull. 

"Are you using the Force?" she breathed after a few minutes, feeling her ramrod stiff spine soften. "That feels so much better."

"We're both using it," Qui-Gon said, beginning light circles on her scalp with his fingertips. "You have a natural affinity for the Force."

Unable to help herself, Karis sighed, her head drifting to one side, immersed in the wonderful sensation of warmth and the gentle massaging movements of his fingers. The pain in her head had virtually disappeared, but she found herself reluctant to tell the Jedi Master in case he stopped whatever magic he was working. His hands moved to her shoulders and the nape of her neck, transferring the healing warmth to the muscles she had jarred when she was hit by the stun blast. Karis felt the tight knots easing, the tension and aching stiffness melting away until her back felt like spaghetti.

_God, he's good at this,_ she thought, trying not to think too much about how pleasant it felt. _I wonder if he does it for everyone?_

Hearing a small inner voice telling her he probably did not, that Jedi healing abilities were reserved for more serious injuries than a simple splitting headache and sore muscles, she felt a self-reproaching pang beneath her ribs. Reminding herself of what she represented to him, of what he could not help but see despite a Jedi's famed objectivity, she opened her eyes and turned to look at him. 

"I'm sorry I screamed at you the other day," she apologised. "It was wrong of me."

The steady rhythm of his fingers did not falter, teasing out the smallest stubborn areas of tension and discomfort. Faint creases appeared at the corners of his eyes in a subtle smile that did not quite reach his mouth. 

"I deserved your anger and blame," he murmured. "I am responsible."

"I thought the Force dictated events?" she said, an eyebrow quirking.

This time he did smile, amused at having the Jedi doctrine thrown back at him. Dipping his head in acknowledgement, he continued to massage her shoulders, despite sensing her pain had all but disappeared. The Force healing seemed to have broken down a barrier, extinguished her hostility. 

"Ultimately the Force governs everything in the universe, but we must each act as we see fit and accept the consequences."

Karis chuckled quietly, the first time he had heard her laugh since she had come aboard the ship. It was a soft, genuine laughter, devoid of the sarcasm she often used to mask her fear and uncertainty.

"Always the teacher, Master Jinn," she observed. 

"Force of habit," he agreed solemnly, seeing her lips twitch in an almost-smile at the pun.

She sighed again as his fingers found a tender spot at her right shoulder, eyes slipping shut. The adrenaline that had propelled her through the last few days in a permanent state of medium grade anxiety was running out and she was thoroughly exhausted. In a short space of time, her head began to nod. With each movement of the Jedi Master's hands, she slipped a little further one side, relaxed, half-asleep and utterly unaware that she was moving. Gradually, she leaned into his shoulder, her head resting naturally at the hollow of his collarbone. 

Thinking she was asleep, Qui-Gon stopped and withdrew his influence on the Force. Sitting quietly in the dark, supporting her weight in the crook of his arm, he simply listened to her breathe, feeling it warm against the side of his neck. 

"I remember the last time you massaged my back," she murmured drowsily, her tone and accent different, vastly more intimate, somehow older. "I've missed you, Qui."

The Jedi Master stiffened, as close to startled as he ever came. The only person who shortened his name like that was Lyxandra, and then only in private. For the duration of a sentence, the human woman's voice had altered, taking on a familiar musical roundedness. 

"Karis?" he asked, sensing a infinitesimal shifting in the Force.

"W-what?" She sat up, confused and groggy. 

"Do you remember what you just said to me?"

She shook her head, bewildered. "No, I must've fallen asleep."

Suddenly, she hissed with pain and clutched at her temples, eyes crumpling shut, lips drawing back over her teeth. Her head bobbed down to her knees and she swore vehemently, or at least Qui-Gon assumed she did, because although the words were unfamiliar, the tone was unmistakable. Concerned, he flicked on the small light on the underside of the bunk. Catching her wrists, he lifted her head and tipped her chin with his index finger, a quick pulsing in the Force dancing across his senses. Even before he looked, he knew what he would see. Staring silently, he drew on his reserves of focussed calm. Pupils contracting to pinpoints in the light, Karis blinked, her eyes an impossibly vivid, beautiful emerald green. 

*

"There's no doubt," Qbi-Wan stated, watching a rapid series of figures scrolling across the small console screen. "Her midi-chlorian count is increasing exponentially."

Qui-Gon looked at the readout, comparing it with the one taken the previous day. His former apprentice was right, there was a marked increase in the level of midi-chlorians in Karis's blood. The concentration had passed the threshold where a sentient lifeform was considered to have Jedi traits three days ago. They were a day and a half from Coruscant and facing the Jedi Council. Via long-range communications on a secure channel, he had spoken with Master Yoda. The tiny ancient being had listened without comment, but Qui-Gon could read concern and dismay in his wizened green countenance. They were to report to the Council Chambers at the first possible opportunity. 

"Any other changes?" he asked curtly. 

Obi-Wan nodded, blue grey eyes moving back and forth as he consulted the screen. He pressed a key, calling up a fresh influx of information. Unconsciously, he tugged at the hair behind his right ear where his Padawan braid had been. A habit from childhood that had never entirely left him, he tended to do it when concentrating.

"Yes, her genetic structure is altering." He pointed to the screen. "There's a new DNA sequence developing in perfect symbiosis with her own. I'm not a scientist, but I think it's what caused her eyes to turn green."

The Jedi Master was silent, studying the readouts. He knew what Obi-Wan meant, but had not voiced aloud. She was changing. A day previously he had found her perched on the top bunk, Anakin at her side, reading Corellian tone poems aloud from a datapad. Anakin had been engrossed, not realising that at the beginning of the voyage the Republic numerical and alphabetical system had made as much sense to her as random doodles made by a child. 

When Qui-Gon had asked her how she felt, she had looked thoughtful and said she felt better than she had, but odd in an indescribable way.

"I don't know," she had said, giving a puzzled shrug. "I feel like there's a million things going on inside me, psychologically as well as physically."

Her eyes, now bright jade jewels, had darkened, her fingers coming up to press gently against the lids as if to probe for answers. Abruptly, she had seemed troubled again.

"I know things there's no way I should," she had confided. "I can read all those symbols, which I couldn't before. I know most of the controls of the ship, and I've a pretty good inkling I could take apart your lightsabre and put it back together blindfold."

Her eyes, all the more arresting for their changed hue, had dropped and she bit her lip. She knew she was changing, altering on a fundamental level, and it frightened her more than she was admitting.

"I'm remembering," she had said in a hushed, almost disbelieving tone. "I read things and I know I've read them before; I found myself correcting Anakin when he was showing me an exercise Obi-Wan had set him. I just _knew_ he was doing it wrong… Qui-Gon, what's happening to me?"

Qui-Gon gave a small, inner sigh, knowing what was happening had much larger implications. It would explain why whoever had pursued them was so keen to prevent them from returning through the rift. 

"She's reacquiring the memories from her previous life," he said calmly. "And her former traits, both genetic and Jedi."

Studying the readouts, Obi-Wan glanced up at his former Master, compact features washed ghostly by the blue luminance from the console. Though neither man was a trained scientist, they both knew enough to come to the same conclusion. 

_She's turning into Mistress Nox, _he thought. _This certainly complicates the situation._

"Master…" he began.

"Yes, Obi-Wan, I know," the Jedi Master cut him off. "We must be careful, her psyche is fragile, she is vulnerable and open to influence."

"That's not what I meant." Obi-Wan met the older man's steady gaze. "How do you feel?"

A sudden surge of pain washing through his eyes, Qui-Gon turned away, features in profile against the blur of hyperspace outside the transparisteel bubble of the cockpit. 

"There is nothing I would like better than to have Lyxandra back," he said, voice low and harsh with controlled emotion. "But how can I welcome it if it means the loss of another, of Karis?"

Standing, Obi-Wan crossed to his mentor, laying a hand on his arm. He understood his conflict, the desire to be reunited with his bondmate clashing with a Jedi's respect for all life. There were not many things Qui-Gon Jinn had come across he could not resolve, negotiate, heal, fight or bring closure to. Aided by a Jedi's innate ability to read people, to sometimes glimpse the future, he could often predict the outcome of a situation or know instinctively how to deal with it. This time he could not.

"We don't know that's what will happen," Obi-Wan reasoned. "Her DNA is developing new traits without destroying the human characteristics, it may be the same with her memories. She could regain all Mistress Nox's memories without losing her own."

The Jedi regarded each other, both knowing nothing was certain. What was occuring was outside their combined realm of experience. It was unheard of for an adult's midi-chlorian rate to suddenly alter, and almost without exception claimed cases of reincarnation proved to be frauds engineered for profit. The prospect that a young human woman with no training was physically and psychologically changing into an alien Jedi Master with decades of experience raised countless questions and concerns. All of which the two men knew would be addressed by the Jedi Council. 

   [1]: http://www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm



	4. Death Shall Have No Dominion Part 4/?

Title: Death Shall Have No Dominion   
Author: The Duchess Of The Dark   
Teaser: Alternative scenario of during & after The Phantom Menace

Rating: PG13 – no nasties in here, unless you count Darth Maul

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to The Flannelled One. I own not, you sue my regrettably pear-shaped English arse not. Karis Kavanagh, Lyxandra Nox & all other non-canon characters are mine.

Genre: Action/adventure and hints of more to come. For more dark fiction (not fanfic) visit my page at Illona's Place Vampires [www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm][1]

Archive: Yes, but ask me first, please.   
Notes: Loved it? Loathed it? Tell me please... Fourth of many chapters! Unfinished…

*

Looking down at her feet, her platform sole boots making tiny squeaks on the sparkling almond-coloured tiles, Karis pressed her knees together and resisted the urge to fidget. Sneaking a glance left at Qui-Gon, she saw he was composed and to all outward appearances relaxed. Gaze sliding right, she saw Obi-Wan was a little less serene. Although he was sitting still, ankles crossed, hands resting in his lap, he had an air of suppressed agitation.

_How do they do it?_ she wondered disbelievingly. _How can they sit here so calmly?_

Looking out of the window, she watched the omnipresent crosshatch lines of aerial traffic zipping across the twilight sky in ceaseless glittering lines. Everything about Coruscant glittered like a new penny, soaring towers, buildings with hundreds of floors, landing platforms for shuttles, massive gardens and nature reserves hanging suspended in transparisteel domes. Upon arrival, she had stared until she thought her eyes would burst, enthralled at the sheer scale of the place. 

When she saw the five proud spires of the Jedi Temple soaring to the clouds, she had nearly wept. Her heart thumping against her ribcage, every fibre of her being told her she had come home. In the three short hours she had been in Imperial City, she had been rushed around by various nameless Temple staff, examined by unnervingly calm healers, eaten a brief meal, taken a hurried shower and changed into clean clothes. Now dressed in rusty brown pants, a close-fitting ivory tunic and her own boots, she sat with the two Jedi outside the Council Chamber, waiting to be seen. 

Feeling very much like a recalcitrant school child waiting outside the Head Master's office, she sat on her hands to stop her fingers tying themselves in knots. When she had asked Qui-Gon about how best to answer any questions from the Councillors, he had sensed her nervousness.

"Don't let them intimidate you," he had advised. "And don't lie – they will sense any deception. Tell the truth and you have nothing to fear." He had paused and given a reassuring half smile. "Obi-Wan and I will be with you, we won't let you go in alone."

Recalling the Jedi Master's advice, Karis sucked in a deep preparatory breath as the chamber doors opened and they were summoned into the presence of the revered Jedi Council. The silver grey chamber was large, huge concave transparisteel windows that stretched floor to ceiling affording panoramic views of the twinkling city skyline. Glass smooth, the light buttermilk-coloured floor was decorated with a massive circular design she could not identify. Walking a few paces behind the two Jedi, she found herself standing inside a ring of twelve unique seats, each tailored to their occupant's size. In these seats sat the humanoids and aliens who made up the Council. 

Hoping her anxiety was not showing on her face, despite the fact she knew the Council could read her every emotion as if it were scrawled across her features in indelible ink, she waited quietly, hands clasped behind her back. Nailing her gaze on the far window, she tried not to stare at alien Councillors such as Yarel Poof, a Quermian who had four spindly arms and a pea-shaped head on the end of an elongated stalk-like neck. She felt very small, incredibly young and unspeakably awkward in the presence of such wisdom. 

Master Yoda was first to speak, as was his right. Touching a minute thick-nailed finger to his lips, he leaned forward in his chair.

"Concerned, the Council is, Master Jinn," he said in his strange gravelly voice. "But to examine your motivations, we are not here. What is done is done. No purpose would to discipline you serve. The young woman you saved."

Beside her, Karis felt Obi-Wan's relief, echoed by her own. She knew he had been concerned the Council would take drastic action against his former Master. Qui-Gon had clashed with them in the past and each time their patience had grown thinner. She was beginning to think that as wise as the Council were, nobody could ever tell what they would do. 

Qui-Gon dipped his head respectfully in the direction of the diminutive wrinkled green being. 

"Thank you, my master."

Yoda harumphed gruffly, giving the impression the decision not to take action against him had been closely fought. Turning his attention to Obi-Wan, the ancient Jedi Master's conch-like ears lowered.

"Jedi Kenobi, placed your Padawan in needless danger, did you. Your concern Qui-Gon's undertaking was not."

Obi-Wan bore the criticism without any visible reaction, back straight, eyes forward, his hands folded into the sleeves of his robe. Humming softly in his throat, Yoda struck the floor with his gimmer stick, making Karis jump.

"Understand, though not condone your actions, the Council does."

Bowing his head in acknowledgement, Obi-Wan glanced at Karis, who could hardly believe the entire matter had been dealt with in less than four sentences. Both the Jedi had spent some hours via a secure channel discussing the matter with Master Yoda during the voyage to Coruscant, but she had expected a more detailed questioning. 

Yoda's pale green brown eyes moved to rest on her, almost unbearable in their knowing. Feeling the gazes of the other nine Councillors, she mentally steadied herself and prepared for whatever was coming. 

"How feel you?" 

"Tired, Master. Tired and confused," she answered, being as brutally honest as she could. "I'm not sure what's happening to me."

The Councillors exchanged glances, a wordless communication passing between them. Adi Gallia, a beautiful dark-skinned Corellian, lifted a slender brown hand, the fronds of her white Tholoth headdress swaying as she inclined her head.

"Do you believe you are changing into Mistress Nox?" she asked, her voice like spiced velvet. "That you are her reincarnation?"

Karis turned to face her, considering the question. She had a gut feeling Mistress Gallia wanted to know for more than purely objective reasons. When she looked at the willowy, chocolate-eyed Corellian, she felt she saw an old friend, someone she had known for years. 

"I don't know," she answered truthfully. "There's something strange happening to me, I mean, until a week ago my eyes were brown and I wouldn't have known one end of a lightsabre from another."

"And how does this make you feel?" 

The question came from Mace Windu, who was sat next to Master Yoda, leaning on one elbow. Shaven-headed, of black human origin, he was a senior voice on the Council. Turning back, she found his penetrating dark eyes locking with hers, probing every emotional reaction. The effect of such deep, incisive scrutinty was disconcerting, but Karis calmed herself and replied.

"Worried… it's something I didn't expect and have no control over."

"Afraid?" Yoda rasped.

Feeling the collective scrutinization by twelve Jedi Masters increase, she felt her resolve wavering. Almost immediately, a tangible feeling of reassurance surrounded her. She glanced at Qui-Gon, whose expression was carefully neutral, silently thanking him for his wordless support. 

"Yeah, I'm afraid," she admitted. "I'm afraid I'll lose myself, that the person I was will be lost when… when I've finished changing. I'm scared I won't remember who I was, where I came from, why I'm here."

The Council digested her response with comment, without any interpretable reaction of any kind. The fingers on all four of Yarel Poof's hands fluttered slightly at the arms of his chair and Mace Windu stroked his chin, but what the gestures meant was unclear. 

"What know you of the Sith?" Yoda asked, rough creaky voice even more serious than before.

"Hardly anything," Karis whispered, hating how unnerved she sounded to her own ears. "I know Lyxandra was killed by Darth Maul, I know what he looks like and what a Sith probe droid looks like. I know he must have a Master somewhere – there's always two; a Master and an apprentice."

Information concerning the Sith had become the Jedi Council's primary concern since the Naboo mission. The Republic transport carrying the Neimoidian Viceroy and his underlings back to Coruscant for trial had had the misfortune to explode before he could be questioned concerning the Trade Federation's involvement with the Jedi's ancient enemy. Traces of an unidentifiable chemical explosive had been found amongst the wreckage. Feeling her mind being simultaneously probed by twelve others, Karis battled the urge to back away. 

"Since you cannot return home, what do you plan to do?" Master Windu asked, pressing his fingertips together before his nose, the change of topic seemingly indicating the Council was satisfied with her last answer. 

Karis felt her heart begin to pound a little harder, sure that if it grew any louder the Council would hear it. She was not sure how acute the alien Councillors' hearing was, but her heart was crashing like a snare drum. 

"If I may answer that," Qui-Gon broke in firmly, stepping forward.

"This is something you have discussed?" Mace questioned, one brow escalating as he sat back. 

"Yes, we have. I ask that Karis be retrained as a Jedi. Her midi-chlorian count is still rising and she is regaining the knowledge and skills of her former life."

A ripple passed through the Council at the bearded Jedi Master's words. Mace frowned, leaning his chin in his hand, shaking his head slightly. Quiet and reserved as always, Yaddle, a four centuries old member of Yoda's species, sat forward in her chair.

"This discussion before we have had," Yoda said sharply. "A grown woman she is, no child like Skywalker. Too old she is."

Sensing the renewal of an old disagreement between Qui-Gon and his former Master, Karis unconsciously held her breath. When Qui-Gon had raised the possibility of her training at the Temple, of developing her newfound Jedi traits, she had felt a great surge of joy and had agreed she wanted to do it without even thinking about it. It just seemed the right and natural thing to do. She was beginning to accept she would never be able to go home, starting to consider what she would need to do to build a new life in the Republic. That the new life could be away from the Jedi Order was something that had not entered her head. 

"Her Jedi traits are growing stronger as time progresses," Qui-Gon reiterated patiently. "Would it not be wiser to guide her rather than leave her to struggle with the capabilities of a Jedi Master thrust into an untrained mind?"

Karis listened as he stated her case to the Council, knowing it was something he felt strongly about and would use any means at his disposal to achieve. The previous day he had sat facing her across the cockpit with a datapad showing various images and asked her to try to visualise them using only her mind. To her immense surprise, she had found it astonishingly easy. Images of varying objects from cups, plates and chairs to speeders and starships flashed through her mind like a series of projection slides. Anakin, who was sat by her side, had leaned over and whispered that he had been subject to exactly the same tests. 

"She is too old," Mace disagreed. "She would never reattain the required levels of discipline to use her powers, no matter what she remembered."

Karis felt rather than saw a flare of determination and annoyance from the Qui-Gon. Her sensitivity to the emotions of others was growing rapidly, a sixth sense she had unconsciously begun to use and was only just aware of. He moved to behind her, large hands settling heavily on her shoulders.

"I will train her, without the Council's permission if I must," he warned, voice forceful and uncowed. "I take Karis Kavanagh as my Padawan learner."

Shocked, she twisted around to look up at him, only to find he had locked gazes with Mace Windu, stormy blue eyes blazing with resolve. His hands remained on her shoulders, pinning her in place, despite the fact his grip was light. Obi-Wan was staring at his former Master with undisguised alarm. After travelling with Karis for over a week and witnessing her burgeoning transformation, he had agreed in principle that she would benefit from Jedi training, but had thought she would be best apprenticed to another Master. He was not surprised, however, that the Council had disagreed. 

"Beware, Qui-Gon," Yoda growled softly. "Allowed it with Skywalker we did, a second time not so. Mindful of your feelings be."

Feeling she should speak, to put across her viewpoint and defend Qui-Gon, Karis stepped forward.

"Sorry to interupt, Master," she said as firmly as she could. "But I want to train as a Jedi. I want to use whatever talents I have, or will regain, for the good of the Republic."

"And on what basis do you feel competant to make this judgement?" Master Windu retorted levelly, piercing her with a stern look. "You have told us of your confusion, of your fears. Fear has no place in a Jedi's life. What you want, young lady, is not the issue here."

Elegant and regal in her flowing headdress, Adi Gallia sat forward and appeared about to speak. She caught Master Yoda's gaze, silently communicating a differing opinion. Several other Councillors, incluing Plo Koon, a masked, insectoid-faced Kel Dor, did the same. Looking at his fellow Councillors, Yoda hummed in his throat and held up a tiny wrinkled hand.

"A decision by the morning you shall have, Master Jinn," he announced. "In peace go."

Qui-Gon bowed respectfully, mirrored by Obi-Wan. Bobbing her head, Karis followed them out, trying not to appear like she was hurrying. Increasing her pace to match the Jedi Master's immense stride, she caught up as they rounded the corner into an adjacent corridor. Dragging her gaze away from the windows, from the staggering drop to the city floor beneath, she frowned.

"Quite a bombshell you dropped in there," she observed a touch acidly. "When were you planning on discussing it with me?"

Without breaking his steady pace, the bearded Jedi looked askance at her, sensing the umbrage concealing her relief at leaving the Council's presence. Obi-Wan quite sensibly speeded up, putting a suitable distance between them.

"It was a decision made in the moment," he declared.

"Really?" Karis snorted. "And I'm Master Yoda's mother."

Inexplicably amused by her sarcasm, a smile tugged at Qui-Gon's mouth, deepening the thunderous frown etched into her forehead. Stopping dead, he turned and trained his expressive cobalt eyes on her. 

"Would it be such a bad thing if you were my apprentice?" he asked tranquilly. "Do I offend you so much?"

Karis felt the frown melting from her features, despite her indignation. He was not a man wounded by words or the attitude of others, but the thought she could have inadvertantly slighted him was unacceptable. If nothing else he deserved her courtesy and respect. She owed him at least that much.

"No," she murmured, shaking her head apologetically. "Not in the least. I'm just used to having a little more say over things, that's all… and I get snappy when I'm surprised like that."

An eyebrow quirked and he resumed walking, long distance-eating strides of easy power. He moved unbelievably lightly for a man of his size, shattering the stereotype that big men always lumbered. 

"So I've noticed."

Unsure if he was teasing her, Karis noticed they had caught up to Obi-Wan, who tipped his chin in greeting. Dusk had been falling over Coruscant when they were summoned into the Council's presence and it was now completely dark. The cityscape twinkled and shone like handfuls of metal beads cast onto blue black velvet, stitched with silver threads of slowly moving traffic. 

"I have to go," Obi-Wan announced, giving a rueful smile. "I've a feeling Anakin will have taken apart the holovid if I don't get back soon. Master, Karis."

Wishing them both goodnight, he strode away, booted feet tapping smartly on the smooth tiled floor. Seeing Karis stifle a yawn, her eyes crinkling, Qui-Gon realised how tired she was. Her transformation was sapping her physical and mental energy, leaving her easily exhausted. She stretched, wiggling her back in such a familiar fashion the Jedi Master was forced to look away.

"I think we'd better get you to bed before you fall over," he observed. 

"All bathed, fed and tucked up like a little Initiate, hmm, Qui? Do I get a bedtime story?" she yawned playfully, opening one brilliant emerald green eye. She coloured, slowly lowering her arms from the stretch. "I-I don't know why I said that."

Qui-Gon shook his head, "It's alright. I'll walk you back, the Temple is a maze if you don't know your way around."

They walked in silence, a slightly uncomfortable silence from Karis's perspective. More and more she would open her mouth and strange things would leap out of their own accord. She had found herself talking to the dignified Jedi Master, who was at least ten years her senior, like she knew him very well indeed. 

__

That's Lyxandra talking, she realised. _Not me. I suppose I'm going to have to accept that. God, this is difficult, and it's not going to get any easier if I keep changing. What if I wake up one day and I'm not me anymore? How do I know that what I feel and think is me and not her? Shit…_

Qui-Gon monitored her as they walked, dismayed at how she had withdrawn back into herself. Each time she let her guard down a fraction, began to relax and communicate, it would slam back up again when she said something she thought was inappropriate. She would begin to talk about unrelated events from Lyxandra's past in the first person, then withdraw into troubled silence and insist, often truthfully, she could not remember any more. The Jedi Master was as concerned as she was that her personality would dissipate beneath the onslaught of returning memories, but knew any attempt to suppress them could be equally dangerous. The Force had decided to bring her to their galaxy, and it was his task to make sure no harm came to her – physical or mental. He noted with interest as they were walking that she was unerringly taking the correct route, often turning corners or heading for lifts before he did.

Withing a relatively short space of time, they reached the guest quarters assigned to her. Due to the boundless efficiency of the Temple staff, accomodation, clothes, toiletries and other such necessities had been found within an hour of their arrival. Keying in the identity code, Qui-Gon opened the door and shepherded her inside. She gratefully collapsed onto the well-padded sofa, head lolling over the back. Weariness shrouded her like a lead cloak, dragging at her shoulders, tightening the delicate flesh around her eyes. 

"Will you be alright?" he asked softly, refraining from touching her shoulder as was his natural inclination. 

She nodded tiredly, rubbing absently at the tip of one ear. "I'll be fine after some sleep, though I don't know how long 'I' will mean Karis…" she trailed off and stared at the far wall, chin dropping to her chest.

Despite the light flippancy of her tone, Qui-Gon could sense her fear, the nameless terror of feeling losing herself, of slipping into an inescapable fugue. Crossing to the front of the sofa, he dropped to one knee so their eyes were level, large hands coming up to frame her face.

"Whoever you are, whoever you turn into, I will be here for you," he promised. "You're not alone."

She looked at him for what seemed a long time, holding his gaze as if to satisfy herself he meant what he said. Finally, she gave a faint, distant smile and folded her hands over his, drawing them from her face. 

"Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for caring about me because I'm me, not just because of who I used to be."

Hesitantly, as if it was against her better judgement, she leaned forward and hugged him. Arms instinctively wrapping around her, pulling her closer to his chest, Qui-Gon realised her embrace was as much to comfort as to thank him. Not permitting himself to read anything more into it, viewing the situation with a Jedi's disciplined objectivity, he nonetheless found his right hand settling caressingly at the nape of her neck. All too quickly, she pulled away, leaving him empty-armed but easier of heart than in previous days. Wishing her goodnight, he left.

Watching the tall robed figure stride away, Karis had mixed feelings. She sensed that in some ways he needed comfort and reassurance as much as she did. His sense of direction, of his life path, was normally so clear, but had become murky with Lyxandra's death. The impulse to lean forward and throw her arms around him had been sudden, a reaction to his declaration that he would support her. His conviction and determination to treat her as Karis Kavanagh, despite his feelings for his dead bondmate, had touched her. She had hugged him in the same way she would a friend of either gender, but as his arms had settled around her, pulling her close, filling her nose with the scent of his tunic and hair, she had felt a twinge of something more. 

__

It doesn't help he's such a bloody attractive man, and the last date you had was more concerned with showing off the fact you're 'famous' to his arty friends… she said to herself. _The vain idiot._

Sighing aloud as her thoughts turned to home, she dragged herself from the sofa and gazed blearily around. It seemed strange to be alone after over a week cooped up on a ridiculously small starship with two Jedi and a mischievous young Padawan. It was the first time she had been truly alone since the Force had conspired to yank her from her comfortable life and dump her in the middle of something exciting, terrifying and bewildering. For the first time she had nobody asking her how she felt or hovering with placid concern when she was upset or hurting.

Unsure if this thought bothered her, she spotted the quarter's computer station in the corner by the window. Stumping over, she plopped down into the chair and waved a hand over the activation pannel. The fact she knew exactly how to operate it despite never having seen one like it before flashed across her mind, but she was too tired to care. Accessing the Temple's database, she spent a few minutes familiarising herself with the layout of the buildings. Almost before she realised, she had keyed in a name and was staring at the picture and text profile that appeared on the screen. 

"Bloody hell," she breathed.

She was looking at her double, an opaline-skinned, emerald-eyed rendition of herself clad in flowing brown Jedi robes. Unable to stop herself, Karis touched her fingertips to the screen and then to her face. She had not known the physical similarity was so great. Scratching at her ear, she paused, fingertips exploring the outline of the pinna. Finding it a fraction more pointed than she was accustomed to, she looked at the screen, at the dainty tip of an ear protruding through the shining red black mass of Lyxandra Nox's hair. 

Quickly scanning the information provided with the profile, she saw that at her death Lyxandra had been fifty nine years old. Despite this, she looked no older than Karis; her features were smooth and unlined, only her luminous eyes betraying the decades of harsh experience as a Jedi. 

__

That makes Qui-Gon nearly sixty, she calculated. _But he looks no older than a well-preserved forty… these Jedi certainly age well, must be something to do with the Force. I suppose she looks so young because of her species… _She looked at the profile again, _Valuxan… "average life span two hundred standard Republic years". Hmmm, she would've outlived him even if Maul hadn't killed her._

Suddenly, she felt sad and guilty, recalling how she had hugged him and then moved away. She felt she had unwittingly tormented him, literally placing Lyxandra back in his arms then snatching her away.

__

I won't do that again, she vowed fiercely. _God, how must that poor man have felt, with me looking so like her? He's Jedi, oh-so-good at burying things beneath that damned serene mask, but he's also a man who had to watch his lover being murdered by an enemy that shouldn't have existed…_

Swallowing her guilt until it sat uneasily just below her breastbone, she continued to read. She devoured profile after profile, calling up random names that popped into her head, swearing with frustration when certain sections flashed up security restricted and would not allow her in. She read until she was dizzy with exhaustion and the display floated before her eyes as a multi-coloured blur. Too fatigued to consider moving, her head sank onto her crossed arms and she was deeply asleep before she realised her eyes were closing. 

An indeterminate time later, she came awake with a shuddering jerk. Eyes snapping open, she stared into the blue black darkness, the computer screen before her dull. Fuzzily asking herself if the light had been switched off when she fell asleep, she lifted her head from her arms, wincing as her stiff neck protested vigorously. Wiggling the kink from her back, she slowly rose from the chair, the various articles of furniture around the room vague blocky shapes in the lightlessness. Abruptly, she froze, knowing with absolute certainty there was someone else in the room. Listening intently, the silence smashed against her ears, broken only by the sound of her own heart muffled in her chest. 

Reaching out with her nascent Force abilities, she felt an unnerving absence of emotion, a gaping void where there should have been a person. Over the course of a week in the company of the Jedi, she had learned that even when they shielded their emotions they still gave off an impression of their being, an indicator of life and personality. It might be nearly impossible to discern what they felt, but their presence in the Force was unmistakable. Something Master Yoda was fond of saying came to her as clearly as if he had been shuffling around her feet, gimmer stick tapping; "Hard to see, the Dark Side is."

"Who's there?" she demanded, suddenly frightened. "I know you're there!"

Unsuccessfuly attempting to reassure herself that she was safe in the Jedi Temple, that nobody would dare pursue her to the very heart of the Order, she took three paces forward, aware that the door was within dashing distance. When nothing leapt from the darkness, she took another step. As her right foot lifted from the floor to take another, a terrifyingly strong gloved hand snatched her wrists, a second hand clamping over her mouth to stop her screaming. 

"Sleep," a deep feline male voice decreed.

The command drove into her mind, shredding all her untrained attempts at resistance. It was not a firmly persuasive Jedi mind-trick, it was a razor slicing through her awareness, cutting the fragile thread of self-control and autonomy. She could do nothing but obey. Her legs went from under her like she had been kneecapped, refusing to kick out and struggle, her arms hung useless at her sides. The blue-rinsed night, her hot terror and the bruising, suffocating hand over her mouth vanished as her mind shut down, leaving only blackness.

Picking up one of a dozen datapads strewn across the small table, Qui-Gon tapped a key, calling up the first page of information. To all outward appearances he was reading intently, chair pulled close to the table, long legs stretched out underneath, a small indent of concentration marring his brow. Tossing the datapad back onto the pile, the casing clattering, he reached for the half-full cup of water at his elbow and drained it. 

Focussing on the brownish taupe walls of his quarters, he made a conscious effort to centre himself. He had meditated, completed his formal written report to the Jedi Council and was catching up with events that had occurred in his absence, an automatic task for any returning Knight or Master. Like most Jedi apartments, his was functional, even austere, with few items of furniture or decorations. All a Jedi really required was his or her lightsabre, the clothes they wore and food to eat. Anything else was a bonus. 

His attention strayed to a shelf on the far wall housing various artefacts he had collected or been given over the years. There was a small wooden flute presented to him by a child minstrel from Alderaan, a complex puzzle Master Yoda had given him when he was still a Padawan, a hardwood sculpture Obi-Wan had slaved over for a birthday gift some ten years ago. Extending his open hand, he watched as two large conical crystals lifted from the shelf and floated smoothly across the room. 

Plucking them from the air, he held them up to the light. One was sea green, the other midnight blue, each with something captured in their faceted depths. Looking first at the plaited coil of red black hair in the blue crystal, then the brown braid in the green, he allowed himself a smile. As young Padawans, he and Lyxandra had a long-running competition to see who could cultivate the longest braid. When his had reached past his waist, she had grudgingly admitted defeat, but not before tugging it hard enough to hurt. Not long after, Master Yoda had instructed him to shorten it as it was getting in the way when he practised lightsabre exercises. Nevertheless, at the event of his Knighting, it had been over a foot and a half long.

Standing, he ambled over to the shelf and replaced the two crystals with a heavy clink. As was usual since he had seen the rift implode in a crimson starburst, thoughts of Lyxandra trasmuted into thoughts of Karis. Despite her avid wish to become a Padawan, he sensed much conflict in her, conflict of emotion and memory, reason and instinct. As sure as he was that the conflict would eventually resolve itself, he wondered what the cost would be. Knowing he was too close to the issue to impartially come to any conclusions, he turned to return to the table and the waiting datapads.

A spear of violent emotion caught him completely off guard, hurled through the Force by sightless instinct and utter desperation. It lanced through his mind to the heart of his being, shatteringly imparting panic and shock. Staggered by the instantaneous intensity, he sucked in a breath like he had caught a hammer blow to the abdomen. A scream of furious terror echoed in his head, unable to find expression through a voicebox. 

The Jedi Master was through the door and down the corridor before it faded from his mind, booted feet pounding at the floor as he ran full tilt. Passing a scattering of thoroughly surprised fellow Jedi, he tore through the Temple grounds towards the guest quarters, brown robes billowing in his wake. Propelled by a prolonged burst of Force-speed, he crossed the open space in seconds. Shunning the sedate pace of the lift, he flew up the wide stairs three at a time, feet barely touching the cool amber stone. 

Even before he opened the door, activated 'sabre drawn back defensively, he knew the apartment was empty. Crossing the threshold, the glowing emerald length of his weapon singing near his ear, he looked quickly about. Only the overturned chair by the computer terminal indicated anything was awry. Closing his eyes, Qui-Gon withdrew his awareness from the room and searched using the Force. Finding only indeterminate echoes of fear, he powered down his lightsabre. Crossing to the terminal, he activated the comm.

"Obi-Wan."

Within moments his former apprentice answered, sounding tired and unenthusiastic. From his tone of voice he had probably been asleep.

"Yes, Master?"

"Karis is gone. Someone has taken her."

*

   [1]: http://www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm



	5. Death Shall Have No Dominion Part 5/?

Title: Death Shall Have No Dominion   
Author: The Duchess Of The Dark   
Teaser: Alternative scenario of during & after The Phantom Menace

Rating: PG13 – no nasties in here, unless you count Darths Maul & Sideous.

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to The Flannelled One. I own not, you sue my regrettably pear-shaped English arse not. Karis Kavanagh, Lyxandra Nox & all other non-canon characters are mine.

Genre: Action/adventure and hints of more to come. For more dark fiction (not fanfic) visit my page at Illona's Place Vampires [www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm][1]

Archive: Yes, but ask me first, please.   
Notes: Loved it? Loathed it? Tell me please... Fifth of many chapters! Unfinished… Okay, don't hate me when you find out who the 'baddie' is! He's such a great, woefully underused, under-explored character in the movie, that I simply HAD to include him rather than taxing my poor brain creating another original bad guy/gal. This may be a hackneyed plotline in fanfic, but it is done in a plausible, non-contradictory way that moves the narrative along (I sincerely hope!). Besides which, this is an Alternate Universe story! Tell me if you think using this ultimate bad guy (I think you've probably guessed who he is by now J ) detracts from the overall quality of the story.

*

There was something soft and body temperature warm against her skin. Sliding out an arm, feeling the sensuous whisper of silky material, Karis rolled over. Whatever was covering her felt delicious, as different from the thick, slightly rough weave of the blankets she had slept under for a week as sackcloth from satin. The fat pillow beneath her cheek was covered in the same material, suffused with a crisp, freshly-laundered scent. She could sleep for a week in such a bed. 

Moving her feet just to feel the sheets stroke against her calves and ankles, she suddenly froze, remembering her last cognizant thought had been when she was fully-clothed and very frightened. 

"So the sleeper wakes."

The voice was distinctive, a low, purring baritone that induced shivers of mixed apprehension and delight. A voice that could inspire deepest revulsion or a reluctant urge to do anything to hear it form words of praise. Wide awake, Karis leapt out of the bed, bumping against a wall. Pressing her spine flush with its comforting soldity, she stared about. Uttering a small cry of shock, she shrank back, green eyes huge and terrified at who she saw in the large, dimly lit room. 

Reclining in a high-backed chair near the door, a black-robed shape with burning feral eyes, was Darth Maul. Gloved hands resting loosely at the arms of the chair, but within easy reach of the lightsabre shaft at his belt, he inclined his head, the minimal light picking up the points of his crown of horns. 

"You may sit, you are perfectly safe," he grinned, exposing discoloured teeth. "For now."

He fixed her with his glittering yellow eyes, making no attempt to force her to comply. He simply waited, watching her like a leopard crouching over a small prey mammal.

"You're dead!" Karis burst out, scarcely aware of how ridiculous the statement sounded with proof to the contrary sat before her. "Qui-Gon killed you! You fell down the melting pit!"

Maul gave a slow, malicious smile, snapping forward in the chair, tattooed features tightening with vitriolic hatred.

"Don't believe everything the _Jedi_ tell you!" he hissed, the word 'Jedi' loaded with rancour and a touch of reverance. "It suited my purposes for them to believe I had perished."

He stood up and crossed the room, halting within a respectable distance. Red and black face expressionless, he hooked a thumb through his wide belt.

"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the bed.

Shaking, Karis crept to the bed and perched on the outermost edge, hugging her arms to herself. Belatedly realising she was no longer wearing the clothes given to her at the Temple, she stared down at the long black sleeveless undertunic and tugged it over her knees. Returning to his chair, the Sith Lord eased himself into it. It was then Karis realised there was something wrong with the way he was moving. He was in pain, each step was more difficult than it should have been, his spine unnaturally stiff.

"Yes," he drawled, sensing her scrutiny. "An inconvenient legacy of my encounter with Master Jinn."

"I hope it hurts!" Karis snapped before she could question the wisdom of saying so. "I hope you're in as much pain as you put Qui-Gon through, you murdering bastard!"

To her immense surprise, Maul began to laugh, a ringing, full-throated laughter that seemed incongruous with his ghastly red and black tattooed features. 

"Shout, scream, attack me if it makes you feel better," he laughed, clasping the arms of his chair and leaning forward. Abruptly sobering, his golden eyes narrowed. "Anger, hatred – both powerful tools of the Dark Side. I see the Jedi haven't deprived you of them yet."

Realising she was rigid with fury, Karis shrank back, gaze dropping. Feeling uncomfortably exposed beneath the Sith Lord's flame-eyed stare, she tugged at the hem of the undertunic again.

"Where are my clothes?" she demanded. "I'm cold."

Maul chose not to comment on the lie and gestured to the end of the bed. Sleek black pants and a slim-fitting overtunic lay on the jet sheets. Her boots stood neatly at the foot of the bed.

"I will not defile you with Jedi garments, their stink offends me," he announced. "You will wear those or you will continue to be cold."

Momentarily hesitating, Karis snatched up the pants and pulled them on, feeling inexplicably better now her legs were covered. She eyed Maul warily, wondering what he was trying to achieve, why he had kidnapped her. Picking up the overtunic, she shouldered it on and bent to retrieve her boots. All the clothes fitted perfectly. Turning to face the Sith Lord, she took a deep breath, shoulders squaring.

"What do you want?" she asked as evenly as she was able. "Why have you brought me… where-ever the hell this is?"

The room was windowless, giving her no clue to the location or the time. It could be day or night, an hour since she had been forcefully removed from the Temple or a week. 

"You are on my ship," Maul said, waving a hand.

Karis instantly knew this was a lie, resisting the mind-trick she felt pushing against her awareness; she would not be caught by that a second time. There was no telltale vibration of ship's engines, no sense of movement. Lyxandra had been on enough ships to know, and therefore she did too. A small quirk of Maul's red black lips at her disbelieving scowl told her it had been some sort of test.

"I sense Mistress Nox in you," he said softly. "You're changing, regaining her memories."

"Yeah?" Karis snarled, covering her fear. "Well just you wait until I remember how to use a lightsabre, pal! I'll put two holes in you for every one you made in me! Her!"

Maul laughed again, the quiet, accomodating laughter used to humour a particularly peevish child. Lacing his black gloved fingers he stared piercingly at her, reminding her she had just threatened a Dark Lord of the Sith, reminding her she was a comic book artist stranded in an alien galaxy. 

"You're in no position to make threats. Even in this condition I need not remind you what I could do to Qui-Gon Jinn's unarmed, untrained poppet."

Karis felt cold, sitting on the edge of the bed and clenching her fists so he would not see she was trembling. His tone of voice was quiet, even conversational, but she had no doubt he meant every word he said. She wondered if she had totally lost her mind, daring to threaten a warrior as accomplished as Darth Maul.

"However," he continued. "That is not my intent. Fear is my ally, but only my enemies need fear me... and you are not my enemy."

Seeing her incredulity, her small flinch of fright as he stood and pressed a hidden button on a wall pannel, he stood back to allow her to see a viewscreen descending from the ceiling on a jointed mechanical arm 

"Nothing I say will convince you, but maybe what you see will."

The viewscreen flickered momentarily, crackling and popping until the image snapped clear. Karis watched, recognising the broad silvery marble corridor and elaborate scrolled columns from the Royal Palace in Theed. Ungainly in their trailing brocade robes and tall headdresses, Nute Gunray, the Neimoidian Viceroy and his attaché Rune Haako waddled into the picture, earnestly talking. The image was soundless and as Karis watched, they moved out of view. 

Moments later, two more figures appeared at the end of the corridor, gradually becoming larger as they neared what she assumed was a security camera. Both were cloaked and hooded, one in black, the other in Jedi brown. Moving swiftly and easily across the glistening marble floor, they stopped in the spill of pale golden sunlight streaming in through a huge multi-paned window. The black-robed figure reached up a gloved hand and pulled back the hood, revealing Maul's horned, tattoed head. He reached out and touched the other person's arm, who responded by clasping his hand and throwing back their hood. 

Karis stared, emerald eyes huge and disbelieving, screwing great fistfuls of her tunic in her hands until the seams groaned. She watched as Lyxandra smiled at the Sith, a hand on his arm as they talked like they were old friends. 

"No," she whispered, seeing Maul touch a finger to a lock of the Jedi Master's shining red black hair. "NO!!"

Launching herself from the bed in a molten haze of denial, she dived for the door. Maul caught her smoothly about the waist, his other arm locking around her throat as he easily dragged her back, kicking and fighting for breath. 

"Look!" he hissed, clamping her chin in his hand, forcing her head about. "As you can see, Mistress Nox and I knew each other well. She knew the Republic is weak, in need of stronger leadership and that was enough common ground. I didn't kill her, Qui-Gon Jinn did – he put her down like an animal when she fought by my side!"

Burning tears starting in her eyes, Karis clawed at the imprisoning hand imprinting bruises on her jaw. She felt dizzy, lack of breath causing violet comets to dance across her vision.

"No!" she ground out, struggling as hard as she could. "No, no, no!"

Just as she thought she would pass out, Maul released his grip, taking her by the arms and steering her to the bed. Clutching her throat, she gagged and wheezed, forcing air past her abused windpipe. Staring through a shivering veil of tears, she swallowed hard as he sat on the side of the bed next to her, expecting at any moment to find a red lightsabre blade at her throat.

"Don't believe all the lies the Jedi tell," he growled. 

"I-I remember y-you killing m-me," Karis choked, not bothering to correct herself. "I _f-felt_ it!"

She flinched as his gloved hand cupped the back of her skull, fingers sliding through her short hair. Catching her breath in expectation of pain, thinking he was going to wrench back her head, she tensed.

"You recall what the Jedi want you to," he murmured, voice a low velvet purr. "Manipulation of a confused, frightened mind is extremely easy, and you must have been very afraid."

Not daring to breathe, limbs manniquin stiff with fear, her heart clawing its way up her throat, she bit her lip as he tipped her face to one side with his index finger.

"I hurt you," he observed, touching the purple blue finger pad bruises studding the soft flesh of her cheeks and jaw. "Forgive me."

Hardly believing what she was hearing – Darth Maul, apprentice of the Dark Side apologising for inflicting bruises, hardly a serious injury, Karis cradled her aching jaw in her hands. 

"You must be hungry," he said. "I'll be back shortly with something to eat."

Rising, he crossed to the door and tapped on it twice. It opened into the wall apperture with a faint hiss, revealing a pair of red-shouldered security droids armed with heavy blasters standing guard outside. As the door slid shut he glanced back at Karis, who was tremulously reaching towards the screen to play back the footage a second time. Grinning fiercely to himself, Maul strode away down the corridor, black robe swishing about his ankles. Things were going exactly as he planned; her fury and fear were beginning to turn to confusion, she was starting to question what the Jedi had told her. It was only a matter of time before she began to believe what he said. By the time she realised the deception it would be too late, she would have committed herself to him and the Dark Side. 

*

"I've spoken with Masters Windu and Adi-Mundi," Qui-Gon announced. "The investigators have come up with little."

Obi-Wan watched his former Master pace the confines of the spire balcony, hands folded into the sleeves of his robe. The last time he had seen Qui-Gon Jinn so close to visibly agitated was when he had been wounded during a mission some years ago. He had hovered over his Padawan's bedside for days, politely questioning the healers, firmly insisting on overseeing all medical procedures and generally worrying in a reserved way. Too deeply engrossed in thought to appreciate the magnificent panoramic view of the mercury saffron sunset over Imperial City, the Jedi Master stopped and leaned on his palms on the balcony rail. Six days had passed since Karis had been kidnapped and they were no closer to discovering the identity of her abductor or where she was being held. 

"The Force will guide us," Obi-Wan pronounced softly. "We will find her."

Qui-Gon turned and frowned, then relented, lips twitching in an affectionate smile as he dropped a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"Of course, Obi-Wan. I just wish the Force were a little more… expedient in this case. My patience is not what it should be."

His gaze shifted to the horizon, brows dipping in a renewed frown. He appeared to be thinking, mulling something over in his mind. Straightening, he turned to Obi-Wan.

"How did they find her so quickly?" he mused. "We were barely on Coruscant eight hours… the healers examined her, any droid tags would have shown on their medical scans… unless…"

"Unless?" Obi-Wan prompted, joining his former Master at the rail. 

"Unless she was carrying a tag on her clothing. Do you recall, Obi-Wan, that she mentioned she thought there was something sticking through the sole of her boot when we landed?"

The young Knight nodded, remembering how she had fiddled with her left boot while waiting to see the Council. She had pulled at the tongue, stuck her fingers down the sides, wiggled her foot and made various barely audible sounds of annoyance and discomfort. He had put it down to nerves at the time. 

"It's a possibility," he allowed. "It could be a bio-sensitive tag, activated by her biorhythms. If that's true-"

"We could trace it," Qui-Gon concluded with quiet triumph. "Do you still have the data chip from the droid?"

Obi-Wan nodded, catching his former Master's train of thought. He had kept an undamaged chip from a destroyed droid, thinking it would be useful to ascertain where it came from. If they were lucky, it would contain the identity frequency it used for its tags, thus enabling them to establish a connection trace. 

"I'll contact a technician," he declared, already striding away. "We should know shortly."

Meeting Anakin, who was lingering in the cool marble foyer outside, Obi-Wan dropped a hand on his shoulder. The young Padawan looked up and grinned at his Master, he had been beginning to get bored. Lounging about waiting for the older Jedi had tested his patience, a virtue his Master had repeatedly tried to instill in him. 

"We've a job to do, Ani. How does helping take apart a droid data chip sound?"

Anakin let out a small whoop and speeded up, a darted glance back showing Master Qui-Gon walking up behind them. Dropping back level with him, then hurriedly quickening his pace to stop himself being overrun by the Jedi Master's huge stride, he reached up and touched his elbow.

"We'll find her, Master Qui-Gon, Sir," he assured earnestly. "I dreamed that we would."

Qui-Gon did not comment, but smiled briefly, a smile that did not quite reach the steely blue of his eyes. Anakin knew that he was simply relieved to have something to do, something to contribute. Sitting around was not the Jedi Master's attitude, he was a man who preferred to take action whenever possible. Grinning at the prospect of getting his hands on something technological, Anakin sprinted ahead to join Obi-Wan, his head full of intricate circuit traceries and fluctuating frequencies.

*

"Tell me about your Master," Karis asked, the question that had been bouncing around her head for the past day finally popping from her lips. "You have no Padawan braid, but you're still an apprentice."

She inwardly winced as Maul visibly bridled, feral gold eyes burning a yellow shade brighter than before. It appeared she had touched a nerve, that there was a point of contention between the Sith Lord and his Master. She had woken from an afternoon catnap the previous day to find Maul talking quietly to a mobile holoset communicator just outside the open door, unaware she was listening. Easily exhausted, she often fell asleep mid afternoon, despite fighting to stay awake. Peering out from beneath her lashes, she had watched as he conversed in hushed, deferential tones with the spectral blue holovid image of a sonorous-voiced older robed man, his features obscured by shadow and his raised hood. By the respectful bow the Sith gave when he ended the communication, she had surmised he had been talking to his mysterious Master.

"My Master is a great man," he rasped. "A man of influence and position within the Republic."

Instantly, Karis ran through a mental list of important figures in the Republic she had compiled before she had been snatched. Sensing her mind working, Maul grinned and poured a little more fragrant Corellian nectar into her glass. A delicious fermented fruit drink, she had commented it reminded her of peach Schnapps and lemonade, which he assumed were Earth beverages. 

"When do I get to meet him?" she asked, shifting position in her padded chair and taking a mouthful of nectar. 

Maul shrugged dismissively, brushing against her mind to ascertain her motives for asking the question. He sensed curiosity, a light phantasm of fear and a sense of calculation. She was probing him for information, beginning to engage in verbal and psychological chess, move for countermove. It was becoming more difficult to sense her emotions as her transformation progressed. Physically, her skin had undergone a slight tone change and her hair had begun to darken from burnished brown to crimson jet. She was significantly less afraid of him, though he could not be sure if this was due to growing trust or regaining her Jedi equanimity.

"When I decide you are ready," he answered nonchalantly.

"Groomed and moulded in your own image, eh?" she murmured acerbically. _'And what makes you think you can do that, Sith?'_

Alert to her moods, Maul's yellow eyes snapped up at the amused contempt and defiance of her verbal and telepathic voices. She looked questioningly back at him, unaware she had spoken. There had been numerous instances of this, bursts of Mistress Nox's personality breaking through. They made her unpredictable and potentially dangerous. He had not observed her for long enough to know if her own personality was disassembling as the memories returned, but hoped to turn her while she was still suggestible.

Softening his pentrating stare with a sly smile, he was rewarded as she almost smiled back, then checked herself. Karis Kavanagh was a strong woman, Lyxandra Nox stronger still, a formidable combination by any standards. But Karis was adrift in an alien dimension, so far from her home and life that they may as well have never existed. She was alone with nothing to cling to, no point of reference. Maul had conveniently placed himself in that void, offering something to grasp with both hands to stave off the fugue. Much as she tried not to, she was gradually ceasing to resist.

"No, in _Lyxandra's_ image," he corrected. "Don't fight it, Karis, embrace it – it's who you are now. Be all she was to me."

She did not reply, but a frown shadowed her jade eyes, the quick mind animating them running through the manifold layers of meaning attached to the utterance. They were sat facing each other in the middle of the room, a small mechanical table bearing a tall crystal decanter filled with shimmering absinthe green nectar between them. The table, which was a simple service droid, would trundle discreetly between them as it sensed a hand reaching out. Maul watched as she sipped her drink, raising his own glass to his red and black lips. 

Karis swallowed the nectar, feeling the afterburn warm her throat and belly as it went down. She had no idea exactly how alcoholic it was and decided to moderate her intake. Getting drunk in the company of a Sith Lord was not advisable. She watched Maul watching her, taking in his relaxed posture, how he had stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. He reminded her of nothing so much as a resting panther, black, golden-eyed and watchful, generating a false impression of lazy indulgence. His lips twitched in amusement, causing an involuntary jolt in the pit of her stomach. Heavy-lidded, his tawny eyes tracked the progress of her glass to her mouth, followed each movement of her throat as she swallowed. 

Each time he spoke it made her stomach clench, she had grown to anticipate his deep, feline baritone shaping the syllables of her name as he arrived each morning with breakfast. Always he watched her eat, observed her, how she breathed, spoke, her every movement. At first the scrutiny had unnerved her, left her feeling violated, but it had begun to pass. He would sit back and talk at length, painting a picture of a weak, corrupt Republic and how Lyxandra had come to share his point of view. He had arrived mid afternoon, the table droid spidering in at his back bearing a plate of sweet marzipan-like delicacies, two flute glasses and the decanter of Corellian nectar. 

_He's trying to seduce me,_ a lucid, unbefuddled corner of her being realised. _And not just to the Dark Side._

A strange breed of dull horror mingled with unexplainable delight filled her as she realised just how far he had insinuated himself, how willing she was to allow him his way. Though far from handsome, with his fearsome tattooed countenance and spiked keratin ring of horns, his aura of disciplined menace and dark chocolate voice was dangerously attractive. 

"Quite a stroke your Master pulled," she observed, desperate to cover her unease. "Sending you right into the heart of the Jedi Temple."

Maul nodded, "Yes. Their security was no match for me, as my Master predicted."

Setting down her glass on the table droid, Karis stared at him. There was something suspicious in his voice, the manner in which he responded so quickly. Adept at lying, at weaving vast tapestries of deceit so complex they became realities in their own right, he nonetheless betrayed himself. Her mouth fell open, fingers curling around the armrests of her chair.

"He doesn't know, does he?" she whispered with sudden clarity. "Jesus Christ on a moped, you've done this _without telling him_, haven't you?"

The Sith Lord said nothing, but his gloved fingers tightened on his glass. Loud in the wordlessness, the fragile flute glass shattered, crushed shards tinkling from between his fingers to pepper the floor with glittering sharpness. The table droid droned forward, a small vacuum nozzle emerging from its underbelly to suck up the broken glass.

"Yes!" he growled fiercely, brushing fragments from his gloved fingers. "I have defied my Master."

Nearly trembling with emotion as he made the admission, he leapt from his chair, red black features tightening with pain at the sudden movement. Seizing her by the arms, he hauled her upright, almost lifting her from her feet.

"Do you see what you have done?" he demanded harshly. "I have disobeyed a Sith Master for you!"

"You're hurting me!" Karis gasped, heart tripping madly at the violent tempest building behind his yellow eyes. "Stop it!"

Easing his flesh-numbing grip, he swept her close, her palms crushed against his chest as she brought her hands up to push him away. Trembling, Karis stared up at him, feeling his heart thumping beneath her palm, the hard musculature of his torso. 

"Do you see?" he repeated softly, voice a tone above a whisper. "Do you see what the _Jedi stole from me?_"

Clamping the fingertip of his right glove between his teeth, he pulled it off and dropped it. Like his face, his hand was tattoed scarlet and jet, the unmarked skin of the palm almost black. Stroking her cheek with his knuckles, he brushed a strand of hair from her eyes, sighing as he touched her skin with his fingertips. Frozen in place, mesmerised by his fiery amber eyes, Karis shivered, but was unsure whether it was with disgust or pleasure. 

"Please…" she protested faintly as he tipped her chin. "I-I c-can't."

Maul guided her face closer, seeing the conflict raging behind her eyes. The battle was nearly his, her resistance was almost spent. She was so close to succumbing, needing only the smallest of nudges in the right direction. All he had to do was provide her with a reason to trust him, and there was nothing better than appealing to the need for a mate. 

"Why?" he asked, lips almost touching hers. "You think I can't sense your feelings? Don't be afraid, I won't hurt you."

She was rigid in the Sith Lord's arms, but as he tilted her face, he felt her begin to surrender. Her journey to the Dark Side and to him was underway. Seeing her unconsciously hold her plump lower lip between her teeth, pink tongue darting out to moisten it, he momentarily felt his self-control waver. He had hated and desired Lyxandra Nox on sight, which had only served to heighten his need to kill her and Qui-Gon Jinn, who was clearly her bondmate. Now he had the chance to have her as she would have been if she had turned; a Force-trained warrior to fight at his side, a mentor, a lover. His Master would forget his rage when he presented him with the reincarnation of a famed Jedi Master who was willing to serve and obey the Dark Side. A trinity of Sith could extend their reach to the Outer Rim and beyond. Pulling her closer, he moved in. Shrilly announcing its presence, his comlink shrieked at his belt. The spell broken, Karis stiffened and moved away, looking shaken. Irritably snatching the communicator, Maul thumbed it on.

"Yes?" he snarled.

"Sir!" the mechanical, metallic voice of a battle droid filtered from the tiny speaker. "There are intruders in the building, three guard posts have been overrun-"

The transmission died in a cacophony of whining blaster fire and loud static, punctured by the unmistakable musical hum of lightsabres and electrical crackle of decapitated droids.

"_Jedi!_" Maul spat, lips skinning back over his teeth.

Whirling around, he grabbed Karis by the wrist, pulling her across the room. Smacking at the door release, he dragged her through into a wide, bare grey corridor which was empty except for a scattering of security and battle droids. 

"They'll not have you," he hissed, motioning the stationed droids to cover the end of the corridor. _I'll kill you first!_

Towed along by the inescapable gloved hand clamped to her wrist, Karis ran after the Sith as he sprinted away, black robes swirling in his wake. As he ran, he tapped at his comlink with his thumb, signalling the computer onboard his ship to begin takeoff procedures.The faceless, undecorated corridors sped past in a silver grey blur, lit only by starkly blue artificial light. There were no windows, no visible exits, nothing to indicate where the building was or even what floor they were on. All Karis knew was they were going upwards, towards the roof and Maul's waiting ship. She had seen him contact the Interceptor and knew that if he got her onboard and they took off there was little chance anyone could successfully track them. 

Confused in body and spirit, she allowed herself to be pulled along, not resisting in any way. She looked at the Sith, at his ivory yellow horns and tattoos that indicated danger as surely as any warning colouration of fur, feathers or hide in nature, felt his hatred for the Jedi radiating from him in palpable waves. Three more corridors passed in a faded monochrome blur, featureless junctions broken by turqoise oblong lights set into the ceiling. 

Maul felt a sudden resistance as she stopped, the pad of her chunky boots falling silent. Raising her head, emerald eyes peering through a dark fringe, she looked at him.

"I can't do this," she stated.

"Now is not the time to play games," the Sith growled, tugging at her wrist, trying to coerce her into moving but prepared to knock her out and carry her if need be. "Do you want the Jedi to catch you, do you want to die for a _second_ time?"

His question remained unanswered as the corridor mouth exploded with deflected blaster bolts, red zinging lines of destructive energy thudding into the walls, rebounding from the ceiling. Severed, the muzzle-like beige head of a battle droid tumbled into view, closely followed by a pair of tottering disembodied legs that clattered noisily to the floor. A single shot rang out, answered by the hissing crackle of a lightsabre thrust through the innards of a droid.

'Sabre humming neon green at his ear, Qui-Gon Jinn stalked around the corner, blue eyes icy and determined. With a single glance he ascertained what had occurred, sensing the tangled, fraught state of Karis's psyche. Joining him moments later, Obi-Wan stood at his former Master's side. Two halves of a perfectly compatible fighting unit, the two Jedi stood _en garde_ facing the lone Sith. Any shock they felt at seeing their enemy alive and well did not show on their faces. The fact they had seen Darth Maul tumble into the melting pit, a smouldering hole through his breastbone, did not matter. At her back, Karis heard the double ignition of a twin-bladed crimson lightsabre. 

"Karis." She heard Qui-Gon's lilting voice as if from a great distance, firm and commanding. "Step away, come with us."

Mocking and vitreolic, Maul's laughter filled the metal corridor, a short, humourless expression of disdain. He took a step forward, twirling his 'sabre, but Karis knew he was reluctant to face the Jedi in his depleted state. Still recovering from his last encounter, his chances of winning were slim. 

"Remember," he purred. "Remember what he did to you?"

The battle would not be won by the superior swordsman or the more adept at mind-trickery; the war was being raged inside Karis's head. Fighting swiftly rising panic, she stared wildly at first the Jedi, then the Sith, gaze skipping between the two. Red and black lips curled back aggressively over his teeth, Maul stared past her at the Jedi, knees slight bent, back braced, ready to leap into action. Holding back was clearly something he was not accustomed to, impatience revealed in the way he bounced on his toes. Whatever held him in position was increasingly tenuous in the face of his hatred for the Jedi. 

Looking at Maul, how he was poised serpent-like, a study in coiled muscle and pent-up venomous hatred, she turned her gaze to the Jedi. Shorter by head and shoulders than his former Master, Obi-Wan's gaze was fixed on the Sith, the usual glint of promised mischief gone from his eyes. She knew Maul had noticed the absence of his Padawan braid and felt an increase in his animosity towards the young man. While he remained an apprentice, the despised Jedi was now a full Knight. 

Shifting her attention to Qui-Gon, she sensed the stoicism radiating from him. Features composed, almost eerily so, the only indication to his feelings was the dark indent between his brows. In a sudden flash of clarity, Karis realised he did not hate Maul, he was an enemy to be fought and defeated, but not hated. Any hatred he may once have felt, he had mastered and rid himself of. Turning his head so their eyes met, cobalt blue and emerald green, Qui-Gon held her gaze. Fighting a strong momentary urge to look away, Karis felt his sincerity, the unmitigated honesty of his purpose.

__

'Maul has fed your confusion, tried to use your anger to serve the Dark Side. Feel, Karis, don't think – trust your instincts.' The Jedi Master's telepathic voice filled her mind, supportive and enviably calm.

Struggling against a sudden resurgence of confusion, differing thoughts and insidious things whispered by Maul clamouring for supremacy, she felt something snap inside her. Abruptly, she felt strangely composed and sure of the truth for the first time. Her head turned, the blue electric light painting violet bars across her darkening hair, fingers curling at her sides.

"Karis…" Maul hissed, sensing the change, the subsidance of her mental state into something approaching serenity. 

When she ignored him and took a step towards the Jedi, he realised he had failed. With a snarl, he surged forward, hooking the haft of his lightsabre beneath her chin to drag her back. Crushed against his chest, the deadly hum of an ignited 'sabre blade scant centimetres from her throat, Karis fought the onslaught of terror, drawing on her newly-discovered calm. 

"Stay back, Jedi!" the Sith warned, taking step after step backwards towards the elevator that led to the landing pad and the waiting Interceptor. "Or her blood is on your hands for a second time."

Pressing slowly forward, 'sabres at the ready, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan waited for an opportunity as Maul inched away, all the time aware he could fetch off Karis's head by flicking his wrist. Bent over backwards, stepping on her tiptoes to avoid being dragged by the neck, her green eyes were muddy with controlled fear, her throat working convulsively as she tried not to breathe too deeply in case the crackling red 'sabre blade kissed her windpipe. Willing her to be strong and to resist the natural instinct to panic, Qui-Gon sensed a small, almost undetectable fluctuation in the Force. Intently focussed on the near future, on anticipating when the other would strike, neither the Sith nor Obi-Wan noticed it.

The pinched tenseness of fear evaporated from Karis's features, eyes sliding right, two luminous emeralds in the dull purplish corridor lights. Her hands flew up to grip the lightsabre shaft at her throat, legs lifting smoothly from the floor as she boosted herself up. Using the shaft and Maul's weight for leverage, she flipped over his horned head to land in a perfect crouch at his back. Her right hand snapped up, chin lifting, eyes narrowing with concentration. The Sith staggered and almost lost his footing, thrust forward by a powerful Force-push.

The instant she had moved, the Jedi closed in. Dropping to one knee, Maul brought up his 'sabre to block Obi-Wan, blue white sparks flying from the impact. Leaping to his feet, he was met by Qui-Gon's green blade striking hard, once, twice, veering off and sweeping back to clash against his own. The unremarkable grey walls danced with the crackling, scintillating blaze of lightsabre against lightsabre, the sound so different to that of deflected blaster bolts. Three participants in a lethal dance, they spun, swooped and wheeled the length and breadth of the corridor.

Jaw set, eyes terrifyingly intent, Qui-Gon drove in, decades of experience lending him an advantage over the Sith's youth. Chartreuse green against bloody crimson, his 'sabre screamed as he wheeled about to block a stabbing blow from the Sith's second blade. Lightsabre skittering down the length of Maul's blade, the corridor bleached out by the resulting white hot luminance, he flew back as he received a driving kick to the chest. Covering his former Master, Obi-Wan leapt in, meeting the Sith blow for blow, 'sabre raising sapphire sparks. 

Karis watched the proceedings calmly, slowly getting to her feet. Some part of her was inwardly screaming, terrified the Sith would injure or even kill either of the Jedi. She jumped as Maul's shrieking red blade narrowly missed Obi-Wan's head, clipping the sleeve of Qui-Gon's tunic as it passed, filling the air with the smell of scorched material and skin. Obi-Wan was too young to die, barely knighted a year, still with many years ahead of him. The prospect of staring down at Qui-Gon Jinn's lifeless form, robbed of his quiet strength, at sightless unblinking steel blue eyes and a mouth that was too rarely graced with a smile, was unbearable. 

Each combatant gifted with Force-prescience, able to see moves before they occurred, the battle continued at a preternatural speed. Perfectly in tune with each other, always correctly anticipating moves, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon fought side by side, using each other's strengths and compensating for weaknesses. Making full use of his two red blades, the Sith thrust and parried, seeking any openings or lapses in concentration, aiming for vital organs. Slowed by his treacherous body, still suffering from the wounds he had garnered during his last meeting with the two Jedi, he was barely able to hold his own. Had his enemies not been Jedi, he would have easily dispatched them with his usual efficient cruelty, but the Force had decreed otherwise. 

Blocking an opportune downward attack from Obi-Wan, the Sith failed to stop the wailing sweep of Qui-Gon's green blade. Sighing past his former Padawan's shoulder, aiming for the unprotected middle torso, it sliced through Maul's black-clad arm as he came about to try to fend off the blow. Severed at the elbow, his right arm dropped to the floor, the fingers of the hand still twitching spasmodically. Bellowing with pain, he stared at the clean stump, staggering back as the Jedi moved in. 

Wincing as she looked at the limb lying on the floor, bloodless as a droid part due to the cauterising effect of a lightsabre blade, Karis heard a thunderous metallic sound in the corridor behind her. Two man-high mechanical nightmares, blunt noses tucked into armoured tails as they rolled, were heading straight for them. Unfurling from their armadillo balls, putting down jointed arachnid legs, twin blaster barrels snapped into position. With an audible pop, impenetrable silvery shield bubbles formed around them, dulling the glow of their three red targeting nodes. 

"Destroyers!" she screamed, no longer questioning how she knew what they were.

Eyes widening as they reared up before her, she threw herself to one side as they opened fire. Quickly retreating to the shelter afforded by the destroyer's shield generators, Maul bared his teeth at the Jedi, chest heaving, his remaining hand brandishing his 'sabre defiantly. Ducking down low, Obi-Wan bobbed and zigzaged until he reached her, covered by Qui-Gon who deflected blaster bolts.

"Time to go," he gritted, grabbing her arm and pulling her to her feet, blue 'sabre flashing out to stop a bolt that got too close to her head.

Rolling in behind the two destroyers, three more uncurled, shields bursting into life around them moments after they began to fire. Pointing with his lightsabre, features contorted with undiluted hatred, yellow eyes aflame, Maul stepped back to behind them. He knew if not for the timely appearance of the destroyers he would be dead. Despite his great discipline and command of the Force, he was in pain. His old injuries throbbed mercilessly, inflamed by exertion, and where his arm had been was liquid agony.

"Kill them!" he roared, the corridor lights reflecting purple black from his tattoed skin. "All of them!"

Deafened by the ringing report of blaster fire, Karis ducked as a bolt zinged past her ear. The pungent scent of burnt hair reached her nostrils, fingers coming up to touch a singed matt scant millimetres from her left temple. A stray blaster bolt ignited lubricating fluid leaking from a decapitated battle droid, causing turbid smoke to fill the corridor, swirling around the jointed legs of the destroyers and the Jedi's boots. 'Sabre singing furiously back and forth to fend off a continuous torrent of blaster bolts, Qui-Gon looked to his former apprentice.

"Obi-Wan, signal the transport," he called above the whine of energy weapon's fire. 

"Yes, Master!"

Finding herself at Qui-Gon's side, his huge hand clamping onto her shoulder to push her behind him, Karis dropped down and snatched a blaster from a fallen droid, suddenly struck with a need to be armed and useful. Bringing the heavy weapon up, she took aim and squeezed the trigger, feeling it kick back against her shoulder. Coughing a little as she breathed in a lungful of acrid smoke, wiping her watering eyes on the back of her hand, she aimed squarely for Maul. Even one-armed, the Sith was no easy target. He deflected the bolts into the wall and back at her, teeth bared in a savage grimace. Taken with a sudden idea, she thumbed the switch on the blaster, changing the setting to stun. If they could capture Maul, it would lead them to his elusive Master. Her first shot went wide, pinging from the shield bubble of the destroyer nearest to Maul.

"Karis," Qui-Gon rapped out, forehead sheened with sweat from the fight. "It's a stand-off. We'll never get past those destroyers. Forget the Sith."

Cursing under her breath, but realising the Jedi Master was right, she turned and let loose a final volley as the destroyers began to advance in formation, crab-walking on ungainly tripod legs. Standing erect and uncowed in the midst of the killing machines, legs planted slightly apart, Maul grinned as he saw the green bolts zipping towards him, 'sabre spinning up before him in a scarlet blur. Skin tingling like she had been stroked with feathers, every nerve ending shrilling with foresight, Karis knew what was coming. She saw the deflected bolt shrieking towards her, faint traceries of air streaking in its wake. Time seemed to slow as she ducked, but as she did so she knew she had not been quick enough, knew that neither Qui-Gon nor Obi-Wan would be able to block it, engaged as they were fending off the destroyers. 

_Great, _she thought disgustedly. _I seem to be spending a lot of time unconscio-_

The bolt hit her. Conscious thought, the scorched metal stench of the corridor and the bright crimson filigree of looping blaster fire faded as oblivion reached out with greedy arms to claim her. Humming blackness.

   [1]: http://www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm



	6. Death Shall Have No Dominion Part 6/?

Title: Death Shall Have No Dominion   
Author: The Duchess Of The Dark   
Teaser: Alternative scenario of during & after The Phantom Menace

Rating: PG13 – no nasties in here, unless you count Darths Maul & Sideous

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to The Flannelled One. I own not, you sue my regrettably pear-shaped English arse not. Karis Kavanagh, Lyxandra Nox & all other non-canon characters are mine.

Genre: Action/adventure and hints of more to come. For more dark fiction (not fanfic) visit my page at Illona's Place Vampires [www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm][1]

Archive: Yes, but ask me first, please.   
Notes: Loved it? Loathed it? Tell me please... Sixth of many chapters! Unfinished… It all gets a bit mushy here, but hey, great love stories are central to Star Wars, whether it is fanfic or the issue of His Lucasness. Text in _italics_ indicates thought. Text in _'Italics'_ indicates telepathic conversation or projected thought.

*

Something touched her arm and she was up and fighting before her eyes fully opened. Her fist thudded into firm muscle, elbow knocking against somebody's arm as she blindly drew back to land another punch, her shoulder bumping what felt like a chin. A large hand far stronger than her own firmly fended her off, an arm wrapping around her to stop her thrashing. Heart crashing, her palms encountered a male chest, the tunic soft beneath her fingers. 

"It's alright, you're safe." The voice was deep, reassuring, unmistakably Qui-Gon Jinn.

Drawing a deep, cleansing breath, Karis squinted and rubbed her eyes until her vision focussed. Serene as ever, cobalt eyes intent, silver brown hair falling about his broad shoulders, he waited for her to regain her composure. Letting out the same deep breath in a long, shaky exhalation, she resisted a sudden fleeting impulse to sob and bury her head in his chest. Whatever strange quirk of returning memory that had allowed her to be so fearless had passed, leaving her feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable, but grateful to be alive. She hated feeling so out of control, but knew there was little she could do.

"I seem to be doing a lot of that," she commented wryly.

"What?" 

"The whole getting knocked out thing. I think I may make a career out of it. I make a good damsel in distress, don't you think?"

Qui-Gon chuckled deep in his chest, studying her expression, judging her emotional state. She looked around, realising she was sitting on a large firm bed, the sheet tangled around her legs due to her instinctive defensive reflex. The room was high and airy with warm biscuit coloured walls, a discreet wardrobe and two doors, one of which led to an en suite bathroom. A square window afforded her an excellent view of ceaseless lines of aerial traffic against a dusky night sky, telling her she was on Coruscant. The simple functionality and décor of the room told her she was in the Jedi Temple. 

Unwinding the sheet and blanket from her legs, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, planting her feet on the floor. The room was exceptionally familiar, there was something about the way it smelled that comforted her. She inhaled long and shallow, allowing the distinctive scent to flood her nostrils. The room smelled of Qui-Gon, an individual masculine scent she would know anywhere. 

"Where am I?" she asked.

"In my quarters," he answered. "The healers said you were unharmed, but I didn't want to leave you in the guest quarters."

He did not say "not after what happened last time", but Karis knew that was his reason. She felt fuzzy-headed, but not as bad as the last time she had been stunned. Qui-Gon seemed a little tired but relaxed and untroubled. His robe, outer tunic and belt were gone, the latter looped over the back of a chair stood in the corner. Once again, she marvelled at the singular Jedi equanimity that equipped him to confront an enemy he had thought dead, stage a rescue and return home. A thought belatedly occurred to her and she sat up straight, a hand settling on the Jedi Master's arm.

"Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you?" she asked anxiously. "Obi-Wan, is he okay? What happened to Maul, did he get away? How did you find me? Where was I?"

Holding up a hand to dam the flood of questions, he winced as her fingers tightened on his injured arm. Hissing softly in sympathy, she let go and folded her hands in her lap. 

"To answer your questions, Obi-Wan and I are fine…" he paused and his expression darkened considerably. "You were still on Coruscant, albeit the other side of the planet. We traced a droid tag embedded in your boot sole… The Sith escaped, but without his arm. He can be dealt with another time, when he doesn't have so many destroyers at his disposal."

Suppressing a shudder as she recalled Maul's tattooed visage twisted with rage and hatred as he fought, a black-robed demon with a double-bladed sword of crimson energy, Karis hugged her arms to herself.

"I thought he was dead," she said softly, voice barely audible. "How did he survive the melting pit?"  
Qui-Gon shook his head, shoulders lifting in a minimal shrug. Nobody had thought to check the melting pit. The superheated plasma vents instantly vaporised anything caught in their time-delayed bursts. The time between Lyxandra's death, the victory over the Neimodian droid army and the arrival of the Jedi Council had passed in a nightmarish twilight world where he saw little and cared less. While Karis was sleeping off the effects of the stun blast, he had contacted Theed and requested a layout of the entire power generator complex. There were several subsidary conduits off the main shaft used by maintenance droids. Somebody with Jedi training could theoretically have broken their fall using Force telekinesis and crawled into one. He frowned, gaze returning to the moment he and Obi-Wan had rounded the corner and come face to face with Darth Maul, whom they had last seen plummeting through nothingness with a wound that should have been fatal. It appeared that the Sith's abilities had once again been underestimated. 

"I'm sorry." 

He turned to her, hearing the barely-controlled emotion in her voice. She shook with guilt and shame, emerald eyes murky, bottom lip crunched to stop it trembling. In the light her short hair was a rich brown black dusted with ruby lights more deeply coloured than the artificial streaks, skin translucent and faintly opaline. Brow pleated with distress, hands white-knuckled in her lap, she looked to him for forgiveness for an imagined wrongdoing.

"For what?" he said gently. "You were not at fault."

"I was!" she burst out. "The terrible things he told me," she broke off, eyes squeezing shut. "I nearly believed him… It would've been better if he'd hurt me, I could deal with that, but he did worse than hurt me. He made me think… m-made me think you'd… you'd…"

She shuddered violently, cradling her elbows in her hands, Maul's deceptive silken purr whispering seductively in her memory, weaving plausible lies. Qui-Gon saw her fists clench in her lap in an effort to ward off impending tears. Deeply upset, she was nonetheless visibly determined not to cry, resolute she would not display any weakness open to exploitation. Something twisted in the Jedi Master as he felt her pain, and he reached out. She resisted at first, unwilling to be touched or comforted, but soon acquiesced and allowed him to guide her into his arms.

"Let it out," he said quietly. "Let it go, it doesn't matter. Don't let it poison you."

Karis closed her eyes, face buried against his shoulder, arms locked around his back. She had not cried in front of anyone since she was a child and did not want to now. Fighting the tears she knew would come eventually, trying to stave them off until she was alone, she made a conscious effort to control herself.

"Even Jedi cry," Qui-Gon murmured. "But you know that."

Clearly seeing him kneeling, face wet and anguished, Lyxandra dying in his arms, broke the fragile barrier holding back her tears. She wept openly and unashamedly, great sobs shaking her frame until she thought she would break apart. Qui-Gon held her silently, a conduit for her negative emotion, drawing it out of her where it could do no more harm. She wept until she was completely exhausted, all the anger, fear and guilt cried away. Limp as a wrung-out washcloth, she was boneless in his arms, cheek resting on the salty wet patch on his shoulder. 

"Better?"

She nodded wordlessly, tear-spiked lashes flickering. Strangely, she did not feel ashamed for crying all over him, felt no embarrassment, just a growing sense of peace. Understanding the healing, restorative properties of weeping, he had actively encouraged her to cry on his shoulder. Sleepy now, she lifted her head, self-consciously scraping a strand of tear-soaked hair from her cheek. Blue eyes warm and soft, Qui-Gon turned back the blanket and gestured to the pillows.

"Sleep is best after a good cry," he observed gently, waving a hand to dismiss her protests. "I will sleep in Obi-Wan's old room."

Realising there was to be no debate on the matter, Karis slid beneath the covers, resting her tear-muzzy head on the pillows. The bed was comfortable, with a slight, almost undetectable indent in the mattress where Qui-Gon slept. Unconsciously shifting position until she lay in it, her eyes slipped shut and she drifted towards sleep, feeling at peace and secure. Staying at the bedside until her breathing altered to the regular, relaxed exhalations of slumber, the Jedi Master quietly stole away, satisfied she would sleep the entire night. 

*

__

3 Months Later

Jumping out of the shower cubicle, shaking water from herself like a dog, Karis snatched up a towel and began vigorously drying herself off. Invigorated by the steaming water, she hummed to herself, ducking her head to attack her wet hair with the towel. It was early morning, the new sun hesitantly peeping over the horizon to gild the silver magnificence of the Temple with rich gold. Dragging a comb through her hair, she carefully replaited her short Padawan braid, still scarcely able to believe the Council had allowed Qui-Gon to take her as his apprentice. It seemed her display of Jedi abilities in adversity had swayed even Master Yoda. 

Reaching out through her training bond, she knew Qui-Gon was awake and similarly engaged in his morning shower. Silently, she wished him good morning and was gratified when he responded in kind. She had expected the bond to feel strange, having someone else privy to her thoughts, but it had turned out to be the most natural thing in the world. She likened it to having a personal radio station that could be tuned into at any time, but with the added bonus of being able to stop the broadcast when something needed to remain wholly private.

Grabbing various items of clothing, her underwear, creamy beige pants and tunic, she caught sight of herself in the misted mirror and stopped. Never one to unecessarily primp or preen, she had had little time since taking up the demanding schedule of a Padawan learner. She had not paused to examine her reflection in more than a month. Wiping the condensation from the mirror, she pushed back a bang of hair over her ear, tracing a finger around its long delicate point, seeing for the first time how it had grown without her noticing. 

The bathroom light danced across her skin, which was flawlessly pearlescent, every soft brown freckle of her human Caucasian ancestry gone. Her old self was there in the sarcastically humorous glint to her eyes, the tilt to her mouth that suggested a lurking smile or a pout of temper, the way she walked, but her physiology had almost completely altered to Valuxan. Her strength, stamina and resistance to the elements had increased dramatically, as had her sense of smell and hearing. She had discovered quite by accident that her nails had thickened and were now retractable like feline claws. 

Mentally chiding herself for admiring her slimmer, fitter physique, reminding herself that vanity was not one of her vices, she quickly dressed. Her training was progressing quickly as she remembered more and more things. Qui-Gon quizzed her regularly with a detailed set of questions designed to test her memory of her life on Earth, and though it now seemed to have happened in the distant past, she had not lost any of her memories. 

Emerging from the bathroom into her new bedroom, formerly Obi-Wan's, she stopped to pick up a sheaf of drawings. Though most information was stored on datapads, paper, or its synthetic equivalent, was still available. She had wasted no time in equipping herself with a great ream of paper and various drawing implements. It had taken her a while to find suitable equivalents to ink pens, coloured pencils and normal drawing pencils, but she had triumphed through persistence and her newfound status as a Padawan. Coruscant shopkeepers always benefitted from boasting Jedi as patrons.

Returning to her art college roots, she had numerous studies of people she had seen about the temple; two Corellian healers, a Malastarian Jedi Master with three eyes, a sketch of Anakin grinning as he played tag with other young Padawans in the Gardens. Dotted amongst the snippets of Temple life were illustrations of Earth done at Qui-Gon's request; cars, houses, famous landmarks, her family. Feeling a sharp pang of separation as she looked at the black and white pencil drawing of her mother and sister, she bit back a sigh, unable to help wondering what they were going through. She thought of her family often, comparing her new life as a Padawan with her old life on Earth. Being a Padawan was demanding and sometimes difficult, but she found it rewarding. Despite this, she sometimes woke with a start in the night, momentarily wondering why she was in an unfamiliar bed with skycabs and transports visible through the window.

Collecting herself, she replaced the drawings on the small cabinet by the bed. Before breakfast she and Qui-Gon would engage in their daily meditation, a ritual she had found useful in combating surges of homesickness. Pushing her damp hair behind her ear, she strode into the main room to find Qui-Gon already kneeling in the centre of the floor. He was unnaturally awake for such an early hour. Stifling a yawn, glaring at the Jedi Master's back, she walked around and knelt facing him.

"Envy is the path to the Dark Side," he murmured without opening his eyes, a small smile curling the corners of his mouth. 

"I thought you'd have learnt by now I'm not a morning person," she grumbled with feigned indignation. "I haven't had my coffee yet."

This had become a morning ritual in its own right. She would complain about being up before the birds, despite being reminded that the vast majority of birds on Coruscant were in specially preserved habitats or lived at the lower levels of the city. He would subtly tease her and they would settle to their meditation. By all standards theirs was an unusal Master-Padawan relationship. She was the eldest Padawan in the Temple, and after three months had learnt, or recalled, a great deal of her training. Qui-Gon was a patient, but strict teacher, who bore her occasional colourful curses of frustration with remarkable placidity. He did not expect her to address him as 'Master', but she did so out of respect.

Grinning a little, Karis closed her eyes and concentrated on clearing her mind of all distractions. Almost immediately, she felt the Force flowing around and through her, the intangible power that bound all life together. It was like listening to vibrant colour, seeing a harmonious note of music, it was all things and peculiarly individual. Its infinite size and strength was awe-inspiring and reassuring, the source of a Jedi's supernatural abilities. Slowing her breathing, deepening each inhalation and exhalation, she allowed her mind to leave the sparsely-furnished quarters. 

Half an hour later, her eyes leisurely opened a milisecond after Qui-Gon's. She felt energised, serene and ready for whatever the day held. Rising to her feet, she stretched, ruffling a hand through her drying hair. 

"Breakfast," she announced. "Black coffee and cigarettes."

"What is this obsession with caffiene products?" Qui-Gon asked quizzically, accepting the generous glass of red orange fruit juice she handed him.

She chuckled and shook her head, selecting two blue-rinded fruit from a bowl in the 'fridge'. The storage unit for perishable food remained a mystery to her; it kept things fresh but the temperature inside seemed no different to the surrounding room. They ate their breakfast in companionable silence until Qui-Gon began outlining the timetable for the day. The Jedi Master had discovered many lessons were superfluous, as no sooner had he begun to teach them when she sheepishly demonstrated she already knew the technique or discipline.

As yet, they had not been sent on any missions, which had surprised Karis. She knew that except in the very earliest stages of training, Padawan and Master would be sent to solve problems the galaxy over, experience providing invaluable lessons. When she did make mistakes or miss the point of a lesson, Qui-Gon would patiently explain, or find an illustrative task or example to help her. He never lectured or berated, but sometimes she caught a glimpse of amusement in his eyes when she swore or laughed with delighted triumph.

Despite her initial fears, they got on well. She had not told him that Maul had nearly caused her to believe he had killed Lyxandra, but she knew he could sense it. She also knew he would never ask her about it, but would listen if she chose to tell him. On rare occasions, usually after they had talked at length about things she remembered, he would reach out to touch her face, then check himself. She would find herself acting similarly. The week before she had returned to their shared quarters to find him studying a datapad and before she realised had slipped an arm around his shoulders and leaned forward to see what he was reading. It was becoming increasingly harder to deny the attraction between them. Karis did not know if it was remembered or new, only that she felt it in the most intricate whorl of her brain, the deepest chamber of her heart, as organic as it was spiritual. 

__

We're going to have to do something about this soon, she thought to herself. _Before we drive each other to distraction pretending our little 'slips' didn't happen. _

"Karis," Qui-Gon's voice broke in on her thoughts, mildly reproving. "I don't think your focus is where it should be."

"Hmm? Oh, sorry," she apologised dutifully, beginning to clear the dishes from the table.

Seeing her stepping across the kitchen on long, lithe legs, the Jedi Master gave an inner sigh as he found himself watching her move, the effortless slide of her limbs beneath her loose tunic and pants. Quickly, she began to load the dirty dishes into the washer. The task complete in moments, she returned to the main room and clipped her lightsabre to her belt. She looked questioningly at him, a smile slipping across her mouth that caused a familiar tightening in his stomach.

__

I don't think my focus is where it should be, either.

*

The loud slapping smack of a body hitting a padded mat rang across the otherwise empty training hall. Grunting as the air was knocked from her lungs, Karis lay spreadeagled on her stomach. Aware she was vulnerable in her current position, she blew her hair out of her eyes, the edge of the mat looming large in her field of vision. Drawing in her knees, she levered herself up. Wiggling her shoulders, she planted her bare feet hip distance apart and adopted a defensive posture; back straight, legs slightly braced, fists clenched, leading with the right. 

"That was good," Qui-Gon commented from across the mat, serene in his white _gi_. "But you can do better. You're not concentrating."

Toning down her scowl to a slight frown, she tightened the wide belt on her own _gi_, feeling a damp trickle of perspiration down her back. In over an hour of hand-to-hand combat training, she had been thrown about like a rag doll belonging to a boisterous, particularly energetic child. In all that time she had not once succeeded in throwing Qui-Gon.

"Yeah? Well you weigh at least twice as much as I do."

"Weight is not a factor, Padawan." There was veiled humour in the Jedi Master's tone as he regarded her, blue eyes twinkling.

"Yes, _Master_," she muttered, realising he was testing her patience, seeing how much punishment she could take before she became frustrated. "I think you're enjoying this a bit too much, d'you get your kicks beating up poor defenceless women?"

Qui-Gon chuckled. "You're hardly defenceless, Karis. The last time you fought Obi-Wan you threw him twice. You just can't seem to focus today."

She frowned again, thinking back to when Obi-Wan had gallantly offered to be her sparring partner. The look of surprise slackening his features when he found himself sprawled on his back had sent Anakin into a helpless fit of the giggles. The young Padawan had laughed until his stomach ached and tears ran down his chubby round cheeks. His Master had taken being the source of his amusement with good grace and laughed with him.

_'No shit, Sherlock,'_ she thought. _It's your fault I can't concentrate._

Standing still and contemplative, hands loose at his sides, the last of the evening sun filtering through the skylights burnished the silver in his hair, picked out the line of his broad shoulders. Drawing her attention away from the enticing bare triangle of chest visible at the neck of his _gi_, Karis gave herself an inner kick and launched herself at him, reversing the roles of aggressor and defender. Upper torso snapping to one side, he avoided her first right-handed driving punch and blocked the follow-through with the left. Dropping to a squat so his flat-handed chop swept the air above her head instead of her solar plexus, she drove the heel of her hand into his stomach, only to strike nothingness as he anticipated the move.

Leaping up, taking advantage of her new stronger, more responsive Valuxan muscles, she whirled into a sweeping roundhouse kick. Catching her by the calf, he thrust her away, but instead of falling, she twisted into a neat somersault and landed on her feet. Diving beneath his guard, supple as a green willow switch, she spun about, planted her back into his chest, clamped onto his arm and threw him over her shoulder. Qui-Gon hit the mat squarely, arms flung above his head with the impact. 

"Yes! Gotcha!" she crowed.

Her triumph was short-lived as he grabbed her ankles and hauled her legs from beneath her, rolling on top to lightly pin her with his weight.

Defeated, but exhilarated by her momentary victory, breathing hard with exertion, Karis found he had not moved to allow her up. Separated only by the softly woven fabric of their _gi_, his body was firm against hers, years of Jedi life maintaining the musculature of his youth. Fallen strands of his hair ticked at her neck, obscuring her peripheral vision, shining in the light. Cobalt eyes dark with conflicting passions, he dipped his head and kissed her. Arms looped around his neck, she pulled him closer, infusing the moment with months of suppressed desire.

Pulling back, caressing her cheek with his thumb, a faint flush sheening her skin, adding sparkling lights to her jewel eyes, Qui-Gon knew they could not deny their feelings any longer. Her lips curved in a lazily playful smile, short red black hair a dishevelled halo against the mat. Long slender fingers tangling in his hair, she pulled his mouth to hers, her other hand moving across his chest and into his _gi_, fingertips grazing a nipple.

"We'd better stop," he murmured, lips brushing her forehead.

"Why?" she asked innocently, palm sliding over his chest caressingly, eyes never leaving his.

"Because otherwise those Padawans' eyes are going to pop out."

Turning her head, Karis saw a gaggle of five teenage apprentices clad in creaseless white _gi _near the open door, three humans, a Chalactan and a Rodian. All five had comically matching expressions of astonishment. Biting back a burst of laughter at their round shocked eyes and furtive whispers, she returned her attention to Qui-Gon.

"Oh. I see what you mean…" She looked back at the Padawans, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "I suppose we'd better move before the poor things die of embarrassment."

Standing, the Jedi Master extended a hand and pulled her to her feet, unruffled. His expression was composed, but a tiny quirk of the outermost corners of his mouth betrayed his amusement. Struggling not to roar with laughter as the Padawans shuffled away from the door as a single entity at their approach, Karis bit the inside of her cheeks, clutching the cuffs of her _gi_ with effort. The moment the matt beige door swung shut behind them, jabbering voices exploded from the silence. Leaning against the wall, shaking with soundless mirth, she wiped her eyes. Qui-Gon was laughing, the first time she had heard him do so, a rich, resonant sound filled with unselfconscious good humour. The multi-purpose Jedi mask was gone, the man beneath showing through. Catching her hands, he pulled her to him.

"I have just one question," he said, rubbing her Padawan braid between thumb and forefinger. "Who is Sherlock?"

*

   [1]: http://www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm



	7. Death Shall Have No Dominion Part 7/?

Title: Death Shall Have No Dominion 

Title: Death Shall Have No Dominion   
Author: The Duchess Of The Dark   
Teaser: Alternative scenario of during & after The Phantom Menace

Rating: PG13 – no nasties in here, unless you count Darth Maul

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to The Flannelled One. I own not, you sue my regrettably pear-shaped English arse not. Karis Kavanagh, Lyxandra Nox & all other non-canon characters are mine.

Genre: Action/adventure and hints of more to come. For more dark fiction (not fanfic) visit my page at Illona's Place Vampires [www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm][1]

Archive: Yes, but ask me first, please.   
Notes: Loved it? Loathed it? Tell me please... Seventh of many chapters! Unfinished…

***

The Master and his Padawan strolled through the Temple corridors, robed in bark brown, tall boots smartly clipping the buff stone floor. Fresh from showering after their hand-to-hand combat session, each carried a bag containing their _gi_. Walking close together, heads inclined as they talked in low tones, soft laughter sometimes coming from the Padawan, they were absorbed in their conversation. In each other. Hidden by a wide circular pillar, Mistress Yaddle watched with fathomless yellow green eyes as they passed, a faint smile softening the frown creasing her brow. Unnoticed due to her diminutive size, she waited until they were almost out of sight before continuing on her way, a tiny green-skinned figure with a greying topknot. Though another observer would not have noticed anything unusual about their demeanour, the ancient Jedi Mistress did. It was happening just as she and Adi Gallia had privately predicted. 

The door of his quarters sighing shut behind him, Qui-Gon deposited his bag, robe and belt on a chair. Light-footed, Karis had already shed her load and was in the kitchen. Her shower-tousled head popped around the doorless archway.

"Hungry?" she asked, holding up chunky seeded Corellian bread.

"Not for anything in there," he replied with the merest ghosted hint of mischief.

A single eyebrow escalated with surprise and she set the loaf down on the counter, brushing crumbs and stray seeds from her hands. Fresh from the shower, her pale skin shone in the light like it had been dusted with powdered pearls, the sleeves of her tunic falling back to reveal her long slender hands and forearms.

"Oh?" she murmured with a secret smile, crossing the room to wind herself into his arms. "And just what would you like? We could always go to the dining hall and start a Force food-fight."

Qui-Gon chuckled, "I think I've scandalized enough Padawans for today."

Laughing in return, cheeks and lips curving with delight, her hands settled on the fastening of his tunic, slowly beginning to undo it.

"Not this Padawan," she breathed, gaze lifting to meet his. 

Transfixed, lost in her emerald eyes, the tiny gold specks orbiting the huge liquid black irises, he felt her hands slide beneath his undertunic and over his chest, cool and silken, caressing. Manouvering backwards until he found the sofa, he pulled her to him, tasted the sweet eager saltiness of her mouth. Finding the buckle of her belt, he unsnapped it, unwinding it from her waist, dropping it clunking to the floor. Catching the hem of his undertunic, she tugged it up and over his head, the garment slung in a soft cream puddle over the arm of the sofa.   
Breath catching in her throat as he traced kisses down her neck, beard tickling her skin, she shrugged out of her overtunic. Deftly finding the leather thong holding his hair, she untied it, running her fingers through the silver brown locks. Eyes slipping shut as he continued to do something magical to her neck, his hands opening her undertunic, caressing, exploring, she focussed on her boots, using the Force to undo them. Of their own volition, they slid off, suddenly flying away to clatter against the far wall as she gasped, clutching at his back.

"Wait," she said, kissing him.

"Wait?" he repeated with mild disbelief, feeling the soft skin of her hip beneath his left palm, her beating heart beneath the right.

Laughing, she slid from the sofa and to her feet, holding out her hands to him, beckoning. He needed no second urging. Gliding towards the bedroom, face alight, more beautiful to him than the mythical angels of the moons of Iago, she inclined her head.

"Patience is a virtue, Qui…" She took hold of his hands, kissing the knuckles, guiding them to her. A look of pure mischief came over her and she grinned archly. "What's happened to your focus, Master?"

"In this instance, I believe it is elsewhere," he murmured, gaze devouring her from top to toe. 

Her darkly smiling eyes promising him he would be distracted from Jedi virtues for some time to come, she opened the door of his bedroom and led him through. Two steps over the threshold, he snatched her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, and carried her to the bed. 

Hair shining red black against the white pillows, fingers curled into the hair at the nape of his neck, her lips curved and she reached out to touch his face. Skin against skin, warmed by desire, their training bond was inflamed, transformed to something much greater and deeper.

"I think I love you," she said softly, clearly.

Qui-Gon, arms and heart filled with her, could only reciprocally agree. At his back, the door closed, pushed to by a slight touch of the Force. 

*

Regular and measured, encased in layers of muscle, flesh and skin, the heart beat strongly, speaking an esoteric language of internal cadences only the initiated could understand. Drowsy now, Karis listened to it, allowed its tempo to lull her. Curled against his side, cheek resting on his chest, shoulder neatly fitted beneath his arm, she listened to him breathe, listened to his heart and the almost inaudible sound of his fingers through her hair. 

_'What are you listening to so intently?'_ he asked, lips unmoving.

_'Your heart,' _she replied.

He was silent for some moments, ceasing to caress her hair as his hand slid to her waist. She shifted closer in response, drinking in his warmth and scent, the unique closeness afford bonded Jedi. As they had made love, their mental barriers had dropped, all the carefully constructed shields evaporating, their minds twining, melding together. The experience had been so wonderful, so intense, it made her quiver just to recall it. 

_'And what does it tell you?'_  
Lifting her face, she smiled. _'Lots of things.'_

Feeling the deep quiet laughter vibrate through his ribcage, she ran a fingertip across his chest and abdomen, tracing the contours of muscle, an old jagged scar on his side, the neat circular depression of his naval. 

_'I remember when you got this,' _she remarked, fingers returning to the scar. _'A Zabrackian arms dealer with an eight inch vibroblade…' _She smiled, mind skipping back through memories. _'If they'd turned up just half an hour earlier, we'd have been in serious trouble. We were, 'distracted', as I recall… God, that planet was **so** cold at night.'_

A soft mental chuckle echoed in her head, his hand sliding to her buttock. They grinned at the shared memory of ice-filigreed undergrowth and bitten back gasps when cold hands touched skin swaddled in thick clothes. 

_'Thirty eight years ago, and I still remember how cold it was,' _Qui-Gon mused. _'We were so young, barely knighted.'_

Karis felt a brief ache, realising that what she remembered had in reality occurred more than a decade before she was born. With less than three standard terran decades behind her, she was half the Jedi Master's age, yet had memories spanning a lifetime together. Their relationship was a strange amalgamation of memories, past affection and fresh passion, new love. They were old flames who had never met before, rediscovering love that had been cruelly stolen. Sensing her wondering if he was comparing her to Lyxandra, Qui-Gon's arms tightened around her.

_'The distinction is there, Karis, but does it matter? It does not change how I feel.'_

She realised it did not, that she had no need to worry that his feelings were due to the fact she reminded him of someone else, because she and Lyxandra were the same person. Existing in different dimensions, differing time periods, they were the same, moulded and tempered by their lives and environments, but in essence the same migrant soul. They were both distinct and identical. Qui-Gon had not once called her by the wrong name and she knew even if he did it would not matter. All at once, she felt sure of her own identity and life path, doubts and insecurities erased. 

_'I know,' _she responded. _'I'm Karis, but I'm also Lyxandra.'_

Slithering on top to straddle him, she kissed the bump of his nose, stroking his beard.

"And that means you've double trouble, if you think you can handle it."

__

Spoken aloud, the words hung on the air, almost a challenge. Never one to back down, Qui-Gon smiled, something he had done all too rarely in the previous year. 

"I think I'll manage," he murmured, hands sliding up her bare back to entice her down for a kiss. "Though my focus will need some work…"

*

Stretching his arm experimentally, flexing the fingers of the hand, turning the wrist this way and that, Darth Maul grimaced. His prosthetic cybernetic arm was the best Republic credits and surgeons could provide. It was as strong, if not stronger than the original, resistant to wear and tear, but it still felt slightly alien. Unhooking his 'sabre from his belt, he activated it, prompting the remote practise droid to zip and wheel in the air above his head. Alone in a large, empty grey durasteel room, he was running through his daily round of exercises. 

The remote bobbed down, letting loose a rapid stream of short energy blasts. With a lazy flick of his wrist, Maul blocked them, feeling them ping against his blade, as harmless as hail against a window. He was frustrated, yearning for more of a challenge to his abilities than the droid provided. He wanted a living, breathing opponent to test his skill, to see the look of fear when they realised he would kill them. He wanted to gut Qui-Gon Jinn like a lame bantha in front of the reincarnation of his bondmate, then kill her too. Slowly. Darth Sideous's fury when he belatedly discovered what his apprentice had done beneath his nose was terrible. He did not rant or rave, nor even raise his voice, but the appalling intensity of anger behind his eyes had caused Maul to prostrate himself on the floor and ask for forgiveness. He did not beg; a Sith never begged. Maul, though he would not admit it, had felt fear for the first time since childhood. 

"Foolish, my young apprentice. You have been most foolish," Sideous had hissed as he knelt at his feet, horned head bowed. "The Jedi know you live. And for what did you make such an error and lose your arm? A frightened girl who is now apprenticed to Qui-Gon Jinn."

Robed and hooded in black as always, Sideous had regarded his apprentice, whose gaze was nailed to the floor. Maul smarted from his failure to turn Lyxandra Nox's reincarnation, inwardly seething each time something reminded him of his weakness. Sideous had allowed himself an inner smile; his apprentice was beginning to realise the futility of defiance. Prolonging his silence, sensing tense anticipation from Maul as he wondered what his Master would do, he had motioned with his hand. Relieved, but not allowing it to show in his expression, Maul had risen from his knees. 

"We will monitor Master Jinn and his young apprentice – I forsee our paths will cross again," Sideous had murmured. "And the Skywalker child… he merits watching carefully."

Sideous had dismissed Maul with a curt nod, deep in thoughts he did not plan to share. Maul had violated his trust, disobeyed a direct command. He would have to prove he was worthy before his Master shared his plans. Inwardly raging, Maul had left, first giving a swift, unacknowledged bow. 

Now, as he remembered his Master's dismissiveness, his disdainful anger, Maul gritted his discoloured teeth in fury. He was loyal to the Sith Master, would willingly die at his command, but he could not bear to be disregarded and excluded from his plans. His fury suddenly gaining violent physical expression, he lunged for the training droid, crimson 'sabre whistling down. It clattered to the floor, a smoking, twisted ruin of metal and disrupted sparking circuitry. Deactivating his lightsabre, listening to the familiar sibilant drone as it powered down, Maul stared at the pathetic remains of the droid, red black lips skinned back over his teeth, chest heaving with anger. He would not be satisfied until Qui-Gon Jinn and Karis Kavanagh were dead. 

*

Fascinated, Karis watched as a tiny winged reptile no larger than a sparrow darted through a bright array of huge blue flowers, alighting on a fibrous stem to munch at the waxy petals. Scintilating jewel green in colour, it chomped contentedly, pulling off strips of petal with an audible tearing sound. Breathing deeply, she inhaled the heady scent of countless exotic varieties of flowers, savoured the resilient bounce of the turf beneath her feet. She was in the Temple Gardens, wending a random path across the grass between tinkling stone fountains interspersed with tranquil meditation pools, languorous borders of plants and tall flowering trees. 

One of numerous lush oases in the barren glittering metal of Coruscant, it was a verdant haven that pulsed with the Living Force of the gathered flora and fauna. Carefully tended by a discreet army of dedicated gardeners, it bloomed all year round, a new crop of flowers opening as the last withered and dropped. Pausing to cup a deep scarlet trumpet-shaped flower in her hand, Karis sniffed it appreciatively, then sneezed as a dusting of pink pollen tickled her nose. Chuckling to herself, she rubbed her nose on the back of her hand and continued on her way. 

Too long an inhabitant of the snarling inner city, she had almost forgotten the simple pleasure of walking through a beautiful garden. Hands folded into the wide sleeves of her brown robe, she strolled easily along, in no particular hurry. The late afternoon sun was warm on her face, the rural idyll disrupted only by the patchwork of traffic moving ceaselessly overhead. 

Nearing a large meditation pool, the water's surface mirror-still and clear, she spotted a Knight and an apprentice kneeling at the edge with their backs to her. The Padawan was very young, a golden-haired human girl of perhaps ten years of age, concentration denoted by the absolute stillness of her posture. Her Master was a young Chalactan, her raven hair almost grown-out from a short Padawan cut. Karis smiled, realising she was a newly-knighted Jedi with her first apprentice. Meaning to pass quietly by so she did not disturb the lesson, she stopped short as the Knight spoke.

"Concentrate, Jada, feel the Force – it is in the trees, the plants, the very ground beneath us. The Force is in the sentient and non-sentient alike."

The words tripped easily from the young Knight's tongue, more quotations of a lesson she had learned years ago. Moving a little closer, Karis listened to her soft melodious voice as she schooled her Padawan, watched her long golden brown fingers settle encouragingly on the girl's slim shoulders. Sensing she was being observed, the young Knight's head lifted and she turned enquiringly. Her rich dark brown eyes widened, shock passing fleetingly across her delicate elfin features.

"Kia-Jo!" Karis exclaimed, suddenly overjoyed.

Kia-Jo Kana, Lyxandra's last apprentice before she died, silently got to her feet. She stared at the opal-skinned woman with short red black hair and a Padawan braid who looked exactly like her dead Mistress. Meeting her impossibly emerald eyes, she read the emotions there, face impassive.

"So, it's true," she murmured at last. "I wasn't sure I wanted to believe it."

   [1]: http://www.bloodlust-uk.com/helenmurphyfiction.htm



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